


Swept by the Tempest

by staralfurr



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: 18 percent edited, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Big Sis Plumeria, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Female Reader, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Roughly follows the game's plotline, Soap opera vibes, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Teasing, currently undergoing corrections
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 93,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staralfurr/pseuds/staralfurr
Summary: [CHECK LAST CHAPTER TO KNOW ABOUT THE STORY'S STATUS.] "Everybody, no matter who they are, has a soulmate."Crumbling under the pressure your family puts on you to find the person destined to be by your side, you impulsively move across the world to explore the islands of Alola. You expected to gain some time before the mysterious Guzma whose name is written on your skin waltzed into your life but, clearly, the universe had other plans. And once you find each other in the middle of the chaos, there is no escaping fate—or escaping him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> "Oh plunge me deep in love—put out  
> My senses, leave me deaf and blind,  
> Swept by the tempest of your love,  
> A taper in a rushing wind."  
> I Am Not Yours, by Sara Teasdale
> 
>  
> 
> So, I have read some great stories about the whole Soulmate AU in other fandoms and liked the idea a lot.  
> I really wanted to write something with a Guzma/Reader pairing and thought "why not?"  
> The prologue is a bit on the short side, but the following chapters will me lenghtier and definitely more interesting. I'm already working on them, quite obssessed with the whole idea tbh, haha.
> 
> For the purpose of the story, the protagonist (you, reader-chan) falls into the role of the Pokémon Sun/Moon main character but is an adult, not a child. Also, in this universe people usually study before becoming trainers.
> 
> Hope you like it!

 

Everybody, no matter who they are, has a soulmate.

You learned all about it the old-fashioned way, when you hit puberty and your parents sat with you in the living room to have _the talk_. Nobody could tell for certain when it would happen, but there was one special person out there intended just for you and, one day, their name would appear engraved on your skin. There was no escaping this fate. Sometimes, it took a while before the bond manifested itself and, sometimes, even if you had already received your soulmate’s mark, nothing guaranteed you two would meet immediately—or _ever_. There existed methods to find each other if the wait became too terrible, although most saw it as an ungraceful last resource. There also existed a large faction of people who refused to acknowledge this inevitability, that their lives were tied forever to someone they don’t even know, and fought against it partaking in relationships of their choice—but, more often than not, once their significant other did come into play they called things off with their previous partner and yielded to the dictates of destiny.

It was meant to be, after all. Completely and utterly _unavoidable_.

You, for one, preferred not to think too much about the future. Picturing a giant clock slowly ticking away until that decisive moment arrived, living in perpetual trepidation, seemed counter-productive. Perhaps you wouldn’t go as far as placing yourself amid the ranks of the nonconformists but, for some reason, the whole soulmate ordeal filled you with absolute dread. Not everyone understood—you did not fully get it yourself—but knowing something so important lied out of your control was frightening on its own right.

Maybe it would have been easier to withstand if people didn’t make such a big deal out of it. Celebrity cases like those of regional Champions were followed up close by the press to ridiculous extents and displayed for the public to obsess over. Movies, books, tv shows… it was a favourite topic, more so if they could benefit from exploiting the romantic life of desperate people looking for their fated love. As for the common folk, everyone around you would suddenly get invested in your personal life, celebrating when your mark first appeared and fusing over an intimate matter as if they had voice in it, which you were very much _not_ okay with. You had seen it all happen a thousand times before.

But, if someone could be dubbed a soul bond fanatic, it was your family.

All of them—grandparents, uncles, third cousins twice removed—had a long history of happy, idyllic bonds seemingly out of a fairy-tale book. Tooth-rotting, perfect matches made in heaven. For instance, your parents met soon after receiving their marks and had lived quite the perfect love story so far, still acting as lovesick teenagers twenty years later. They had been young and travelling around Kanto at the time, your mother trying her luck as pokémon trainer and your father immersed in a field research as intern in Professor Oak’s laboratory; she got into trouble with a herd of wild Tauros and he just happened to be there to save the damsel in distress, then they realized who the other person actually was and continued travelling together to get to know each other. Months later they married, and not long after that you were born. Your paternal grandparents were childhood friends and neighbours in Viridian City for seventeen years before discovering each other as soulmates. And your cousin Shelby, who is the same age as you, has been in a sickeningly sweet relationship with her mate for three years after they found each other while at the Academy and already expecting her first child.

The true problem is, you appear to have broken the family’s winning streak and no one will allow you to forget about it.

You received your mark at age twelve along with the awakening of your sexuality. Sooner than usual. _Stronger_ than usual. It appeared out of nowhere overnight and you woke up with a stranger’s name on your skin. Black, ragged letters gently tracing the curve of your ribs right under your left breast. It didn’t hurt, you didn’t feel anything weird, but all of a sudden you were branded for life. The shock that struck you upon seeing the almost violent letters staring back at you on the bathroom’s mirror was such that you threw you hairbrush against the reflection and broke it. For some stupid reason, you didn’t want your parents to find out about it, though they did anyway a couple of weeks later. As expected, everyone bombarded you with enthusiastic remarks and questions. They threw you a party. Someone asked about it nearly every day.

That your bond manifested so prematurely could only mean you would meet your soulmate soon, right? It was so exciting. Perhaps they were a student at Viridian’s Pokémon Academy, like you. How would your love story begin? Would it be as perfect as theirs? It had to, of course. It would, without a doubt. But, most importantly, did you know someone called _Guzma_?

Because that was the name that claimed your body as someone else’s. Guzma. Such an odd name. Your scholarly father mused it might have something to with Guzmania, a genus of exotic plants and flowers, and your ever-observant mother thought the handwriting obviously reflected a very passionate personality. On the following months you spent hours in front of the bathroom’s—now substituted—mirror studying and basically memorizing all the dips and curves of that damned mark. At times you thought it sexy. Other, far more unpleasant times you hated everything about its appearance and location because it almost felt as if someone you had not even known yet had put a claim on your heart and there was nothing you could do to prevent that. Those bold, irregular letters spoke an angry story. For all the amount of rage and—okay, you would roll with mom’s absurdly romantic expectations on this one—passion the mark transmitted, you were enthralled by how delicately the name curved to fit along the swell of your breast. A fascinating contradiction that occupied your mind too often for your liking. Sometimes, when idly brushing your fingertips over the letters, you could feel _him_ —somehow, you knew it was a man and not a woman. Echoes of emotions, thoughts, perceptions, that didn’t really belong to you but seemed far too real, responding to your own. It was the scariest thing you had ever experienced.

Nonetheless, despite everyone’s unrealistic expectations, your soulmate didn’t show up right away—nor the following year, nor the next, and before anyone realized it, twelve years turned into eighteen and you still remained alone. Each passing day since your coming of age was sheer torture for various reasons. To begin with, the onslaught of foreign emotions you received from the other end had only grown in intensity with the passage of time and, judging by the countless times you woke up crying or doubled over pierced by phantom pain out of the blue, whoever your mate was he didn’t seem to be doing so well. Scary turned to terrifying. And to top it all, instead of losing interest, your whole family only grew ever-expectant. They constantly threw mocking comments your way about how your significant other had gotten lost on their way to your doorstep. It was almost as if nothing else mattered. Your academic efforts, aspirations and feelings seemingly lost all their importance next to finding that mysterious, hurting man that the universe said belonged by your side. When your nineteenth birthday rolled in and everything remained the same, a particularly nosy aunt went as far as suggesting you went to the Registry in Saffron City to inquire about your soulmate’s whereabouts, since anyone who was marked had to appear on their archives by law.

Enough was enough.

That night, fed up with the whole situation, you made a decision.

You packed your things and booked a passage on a boat to the most remote region you could think of—the Alolan archipelago. Professor Oak, still your father’s superior at the lab and a good friend of the family, confided that his cousin Samson was in need of an assistant, preferably a competent trainer who could provide some first-hand information on regional variants. Like every other kid, you had always dreamed of becoming a pokémon trainer, but you had postponed the journey and worked hard to graduate with honours from the Academy first. You considered yourself more than competent, at least on paper, always top of the class. Books could hardly teach you anything more, and Alola seemed as good a place as any other to take your first steps in the real deal. So, you secretly applied for the position without delay and didn’t speak a word about it until the night prior to your departure. Needless to say, your parents didn’t receive the news with a smile but with a heated argument that drove you out the door.

Everybody thought you would join your father at the lab someday. And maybe you would, who knows, but not at the moment.

They would get over it. You were no longer a child.

You needed to get away from there and _breathe_. See the world. Meet people. Build your path.

All that mattered was that you were finally doing what you wanted and that, hopefully, this would put a good distance between that bothersome Guzma person that haunted your thoughts and yourself.

Oh, how wrong you were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last edited on 19 July 2018.


	2. Some Kind of Cosmic Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several months after you left home, your life couldn't be more exciting - and exhausting. You have a job, friends, and a mentor that holds you in absurdly high esteem. Thankfully, you have forgotten everything about your soulmate. Then you meet Guzma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You will meet a tall dark stranger and he will fuck your shit up.  
> We don’t know why, some kind of cosmic joke.  
> It is terrifying how little you will be able to control yourself.  
> The bills will go unpaid. There will be flies in the kitchen.  
> A smile will insist on flirting with your lips. Too much  
> of a good thing will chew you up and swallow you whole.  
> The moon is in your house and has nothing to say  
> about all your nonsense. Now may be a good time to go  
> on a long journey. The stars think you need to clear your head.  
> The stars think you need to run."  
> Your Latest Horoscope, by Clementine Von Radics
> 
>  
> 
> Wow.
> 
> Honestly, I wasn't expecting to update so soon but seeing the amount of support this humble idea has gathered in just half a day... I truly feel honoured by every single comment, kudos and visit.
> 
> I was stupidly inspired and just kept writing, so I hope there aren't any serious mistakes in this one. I just want to write as much as I can before my exams knock at the door.
> 
> Thank you all. Love you, guys. ❤

The phone goes into engaged tone as soon as you dial Professor Kukui’s number for what must be the umpteenth time. A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you end the call before the voicemail activates and you leave yet another accidental recording of profanities for the man to listen to later. Nervously passing the fingers of your free hand through your dishevelled hair—the residual electricity on the air working against you on that account—you tuck the phone back in the lateral pocket of your messenger bag and lean back on the solitary bench at the bus stop.

Fingers tapping impatiently on the wooden seat, your mind races a mile an hour. Did something happen? Are you worrying over nothing? Should you go look for them? Should you simply wait?

“This stupid day is never going to end, is it?” you whine, looking down at the small Eevee curled up on your lap. Cradling the little ball of fur has proven to be the most effective way of keeping negative emotions at bay, one you were overindulging in as of late. His maws open in an adorable yawn as he gazes up at you in question.

You haven’t found a moment to properly name the Eevee yet, so he responds to pretty much any term of endearment spoken in a silly high-pitched voice. He hatched merely three days ago from the mysterious egg you had received as passing gift at the Pokémon Nursery, and your schedule has been too damn hectic to think about that. The poor baby refuses to leave your side, apparently believing you are his mother, and you won’t be the one to tell him otherwise—being awfully short on the love department, you appreciate feeling treasured for once, so you have reserved a spot for him in your regular team as emotional support.

“I know, sweetie,” you coo, scratching absent-mindedly behind his ears. “I’m tired, too. So tired.”

Exhaustion had become your default setting, if the dark circles beneath your eyes were testimony enough. Most of the time these days you work on auto-pilot, fuelled by what anyone sensible would deem unhealthy doses of caffeine. And just when you thought you could take a break…

You completed the trial at Hokulani Observatory roughly half an hour ago. Despite the fact that everyone was supposed to meet at the peak of the mountain once you were done, your friends were nowhere to be seen when you finally stepped outside with a shiny new crystal on your Z-Ring. Something felt off. The professor had left to fetch Lillie and Hau so that the latter could face his own trial, but that had been _hours_ ago and you haven’t heard a word from them ever since. And now they aren’t answering the phone. Not that you are concerned about Kukui specifically, maybe a little about the kids, but this is very unusual and you can't disregard the unease that has just complicated your day even further.

Maybe the sudden turn of events wouldn’t bother you so much if you weren’t so worn-out. But, given the circumstances, you are far from thrilled about returning to Malie so soon when you could be resting in the Pokémon Centre and enjoying what would be your first proper meal in a particularly long and wearisome week.

Of course, it seems that won’t be the case today.

“I think we better go check if everything’s alright.”

The reason you’re allowing an irrational concern to take the wheel like this is the conversation you overheard in the observatory’s lobby. Not surprisingly, Team Skull seemed to be making trouble in Malie. Now, everything could be connected or it could be nothing but, either way, heading back down the mountain seemed the best option.

Even if any conflict those poor fools can possibly have caused cannot be too serious, since you have been dealing with the awkward band of rascals for the last couple of months without breaking a sweat, you’re worried. They are mostly all bark and no bite, just a bunch of misunderstood kids who turned to delinquency to find their place in society—nothing like the macabre activities Team Rocket took part in during your childhood—but you can’t condone some of their misdoings all the same. Most of the time, whenever they are not testing your patience, you can’t help but feel sympathy towards them. Perhaps you would have fit in their ranks, had you ran away from home earlier in your youth and with less resources in hand. This very morning you had to cope with a couple of grunts vandalizing the bus stop at the base of the mountain, but they were doing so because of some twisted sense of misplaced justice—something about the well-being of hardworking bus drivers. Sometimes you really want to punch them in the face, whereas others their odd candidness brings your maternal instinct out; more often than not, both at the same time.

Minutes tick by and the Exeggutor Express is still nowhere in sight. The sun slowly descends on the horizon line, casting long shadows along the winding road. Yet another weary sigh leaves your mouth before you can hold it back as you rummage through your bag and retrieve your Page Rider to call a Charizard. While fumbling with the buttons on the device, your thoughts wander inevitably to the last couple of months: possibly the hardest, and the best, of your entire life. There has scarcely been a moment to breathe in between everything that has happened since you left home but there’s a profound satisfaction beneath all those overdue sleep hours.

The plane ticket to Alola costed you a pretty penny, nearly all your savings, even if this newly found freedom proved to be absolutely worth it. Suddenly you found yourself all alone, a world away from everything you knew and having to fend for yourself for maybe the first time ever. The first night you slept curled up on a bench in the tourist centre. Be it pure coincidence or a tricky twist of fate, the beginning of your adventure in Melemele turned out to be madly eventful when you delved into the jungle to see the sacred ruins that lied in its heart and ended up rescuing Professor’s Kukui young assistant from the fury of some wild Spearows… only to be rescued yourself by the guardian deity of the island, Tapu Koko, when the old plank bridge collapsed under your feet. Kahuna Hala perceived some sort of potential in you, seeing that the allusive legendary pokémon had shown itself to you despite being a foreigner, and somehow three days later you left Iki Town behind with your first pokémon and a sparkling stone bracelet around your wrist that identified you as participant of the island challenge—the equivalent of the gym pilgrimage back at home.

After filling the pertaining paperwork and discussing several issues with Samson Oak at the Pokémon School he was headmaster of, he seemed fit to delegate the brunt of your mentoring on Professor Kukui, who gladly took you under his wing.

Within one week, through sheer luck and hard work you went from lost and frustrated to employed and on the way to being a bona fide trainer. You haven’t stopped travelling ever since—helping Hau and Lillie along the road, essentially the little siblings you never had; tracking and capturing regional variants to document the species behavioural changes; and, of course, challenging the captains. It doesn’t fit the picture you had mentally painted before coming here but you are not complaining… much. At least you haven’t had time to waste thinking about the whole soulmate ordeal.

It sounds absurd that you of all people, an outsider and novice trainer, have so easily fallen into the role of saviour of the people: rescuing pokémon, dealing with various wrongdoers and essentially being a babysitter for everyone, including your so-called boss. Sometimes it feels as if you are the severe tutor and he the daydreaming boy who can’t stand still. Even though by now you consider him and his wife friends, more than anything, considering the minimal age gap. They hold you in high regard, and you them. Kukui might even be planning on making you the first Champion of the islands, judging by the way he pointed out Mount Lanakila in the distance from Hokulani’s overlook this morning to explain his ambitious plans of founding a League. He wants to open the region up to more people, putting tradition and innovation together.

“Okay, that’s our ride,” you exhale, hugging a drowsy Eevee to your chest and running to meet the Charizard landing with a roar in the stretch of road in front of the bus stop. “Hi there, big guy,” you pat the big draconic pokémon on the hide, hauling yourself onto the saddle at the second attempt. You fasten the security belt and straps with slightly shaky hands, still not entirely used to the whole riding pokémon experience. “Just need you to drop us by downtown Malie real quick. You up for that?”

Its loud answer startles Eevee so much that it seeks refuge inside your bag, the furry tip of his ears poking out of the gapping lid. At least, that way you know he’ll be safe there.

“Alright, let’s go!”

The flight is every bit as unpleasant as you expected—hasty, with the wind blasting on your face, and not over quick enough despite lasting three minutes at most. When you finally touch land in a clear spot of Malie’s main street, a woozy head almost makes you fall headfirst off the leather seat. Instead, you slid down until kneeling on the asphalt. Since the first and last time you had given it a try after much insistence on Kiawe’s part, you expected your second reaction to flying to be less dramatic. _Wrong_ , again. The rushing wind still seems to ring in your ears and you don’t even want to know how you look right now, which adds an argument in favour of sparing some money to get proper riding gear at the next opportunity.

Once the dizziness dispels enough to stand up, you dig around in your bag and snatch the pokébeans’ pouch from Eevee’s greedy paws, sparing a handful for the Charizard in gratitude. It munches happily on the treat and then, no longer needed, dashes off with a contented roar, leaving you and several bystanders coughing in a cloud of dust.

“I swear, I’m only walking from now on.”

You spot the colourful sign of the Malasada shop a little further down the street and dash through the doors without thinking, just to confirm Hau hasn’t been holed up there eating all this time, oblivious to the world. It has happened before. But he isn’t there. Gnawing on your bottom lip dejectedly, you help yourself to their bathroom to wash your face and do your best to untangle the mess that has become your hair using your fingers. Twisting it into a messy bun on the top of your head, you spare a moment longer to dust off your clothes before stepping out, feeling slightly more like a decent human being.

“Excuse me, miss.”

The bodiless voice startles you, looking around until settling on the counter by the entrance, behind which  a black-haired woman looks at you expectantly.

You point a finger at yourself and she nods, chuckling.

“Sorry to bother you. I just thought I recognized you from somewhere. You’re one of Professor Kukui’s pupils, right? I think you were here with him yesterday, and also with a blonde girl and Kahuna Hala’s grandson?”

“Oh, yes. That’s me alright. Did you see him today, by any chance? Or any of my other companions?”

“Sorry, I didn’t, but… you might want to try looking at the Garden. Something’s going on over there and I heard some customers mentioning the professor earlier.”

Heaving a long sigh, both relieved at having a clue and exasperated that the chase isn’t over yet, you mutter a quick thank you and rush back outside, turning left towards the Garden’s elegant entrance.

“I’m _so_ going to get a nice, free dinner out of the professor’s pocket for all the shit they’re making me go through today.” The hastiness to get there, paired with the mounted exhaustion, has you panting as you half-walk, half-run in long swift strides. “Maybe in that fancy sushi restaurant I saw in the market place. _And_ I’m going to order some nice, expensive wine. _And_ take the day off tomorrow, no matter what anyone thinks.”

Eevee listens to your mad ramblings from his comfortable spot in the bag, snout furrowed in confusion, probably not understanding a thing.

“You know, sometimes I wish _I_ was a pokémon. Just worrying about eating and sleeping, even with the occasional fight thrown in… now that’s a life I could definitely get used to. Let’s trade bodies sometime, hm?”

However, all pretences of frivolousness are thrown to the wind the moment you reach the archway that marks the entrance to Malie Garden. The murmurs reach you first, then you notice the multitude of agitated people that starts at the gate and stretches into the precinct. There is a smaller crowd of black and white uniforms around which everyone is gathered and, at the sight of them, your dominant hand immediately goes to the pokéballs attached to your belt. Of course, it had to be Team Skull. Who else?

Unfriendly eyes follow you over the hem of their bandanas as you walk past the initial ring, one or two grunts actually remembering you from earlier confrontations and shying away from the cobblestone path. There are no obvious signs of public destruction around, though, and the civilians standing at the margins look more curious than frightened. Right in the middle of it all, you find Professor Kukui.

He’s arguing with an unknown man you have never seen before. They stand on the gilded-painted wooden bridge, face to face. As you approach the scene with slow, hesitant steps, you are thrown aback by the playful but threatening tone in the professor’s words and the underlying aggressiveness under the other person’s husky voice. The stranger towers over everyone in an intimidating manner, dressed in a similar fashion to the dark baggy clothes of the other Team Skull grunts only that… different. Everything about him is imposing alright. He is even taller than your mentor while slouching, and that is saying something. His striking appearance is completed by a shock of tousled white hair, pulled back by a pair of big odd-looking sunglasses that constitute one of the several golden accents to the outfit, and intricate purple tattoos covering his pale forearms. And he is _loud_.

What surprises you the most it’s that this is the first time you have seen Kukui being remotely hostile towards anyone. Your fingers tap Primarina’s pokéball, contemplating whether to walk any closer and interfere before things get ugly. There is some sort of familiarity running between them, though, an old rivalry most likely in which you are somehow intruding.

 _Maybe I should leave_ … _Discreetly_.

But, just then, Professor Kukui turns around with one of his trademark beaming grins on place. “Ah, always on time, my dear girl!” he exclaims good-naturedly, as if you were back at the laboratory discussing pokémon moves and not surrounded by a small army of teenage delinquents. “Come here.”

More than a little confused, you reluctantly walk to his side avoiding the various snarls the grunts hiss in your wake… and almost jump in retreat to hide behind the professor’s lab coat when your eyes meet the stranger’s smouldering gaze. He stares down at you full of antipathy and thinly veiled curiosity, an obvious strain in the way he clenches his teeth and tenses his jaw. Grey eyes that shine like dark silver in the increasingly dim light. His presence hits you like a hammer, stealing your breath for a few agonizing instants. There is something uncannily powerful about him, something impossible to explain. If it didn't sound completely ridiculous, you would say you can sense the intense, conflicting feelings rolling off like waves crushing against a cliff.

Like the proud rock withstanding the assault of a rough sea, you are almost pushed out of your mind by the foreign sensation, needing a moment to blink and clear your throat to gather your bearings. You can feel them both looking at you, waiting.

Forcing your own inquisitive gaze away from the mysterious, angry man, you lean a bit closer to the professor. “Care to fill me in? What’s going on here? And where the hell is your phone? I was— ”

“ _Who are you?_ ” a deep, husky voice interrupts your reprimand, cutting through your consciousness like a red-hot knife.

The ocean hits you again, harder, stealing a soft gasp.

Kukui chuckles at the vehement question, completely ignorant to the other silent and abnormal interaction going on around him. “Why, old friend, this young woman happens to be one of the talented trainers taking on the island challenge. And I must say, I never saw such a determined and caring trainer before. I’d say she has already surpassed both you _and_ me when we were in her place, well on her way to the top of the future League,” he finishes that statement by wrapping an arm around your shoulders to show his full confidence on it happening exactly like that.

You laugh awkwardly, under your breath, and wait a few moments before shrugging him off as politely as possible. “T-that’s an exaggeration, ” you gulp, eyes trailing upwards to meet the burning glint in the depths of those grey pools, which somehow sends tremors of excitement across the haze enveloping your terrorized mind. “And… _who is he_?”

“I’m the one and only leader of Team Skull,” the ruffian answers himself. Not expecting it, you jump startled at the fervour with which he proudly declares the title, not a speck of shame in the grin that tops his words. For some reason, you had assumed that pigtailed girl that ambushed you weeks ago was their leader, judging by the way she talked. But this information doesn’t hit you as hard as it would have at another occasion, nor do you have time to mull over it because he keeps talking and growing even louder, even angrier. By now, he must have realized you are the annoying trainer that has been thwarting his band's plans all this time, because you see the tendons on his neck pulled taut. “You’re afraid? You should be! I’m gonna crush all of you, weaklings. I bet you have no idea why you're even runnin’ around collecting stones from those stupid captains, doing everything they want. You really think you’re better than me? _Stronger_ than me? Show me your cards, doll.”

The challenge alone awakes a natural response, nurtured over months of travelling and battling. You walk to the middle of the road to create some distance. Even though your hand’s already hovering over your belt, you send a side-glance to the professor, asking for some sort of permission.

He nods, smiling widely as always, arms crossed over his bare chest. You can see Professor Burnet’s name written in elegant letters over his collarbone, glistening like old gold in the light of sunset. “Go ahead, Tackle him with all your might!”

“Don’t look at your teacher for pointers, little girl. Look at _me_!”

Taking the position directly across the improvised field, your opponent… crouches down to a squat, for some reason, and tosses his chosen pokéballs to the air. Two huge creatures materialize on the cobblestone path. Golisopod and Ariados. Someone has a penchant for bug pokémon, huh?

You stare defiantly at him, feeling those piercing eyes taunting you across the battlefield, and pick your own pokémon, welcoming the sight of your loyal Arcanine and your Alolan Raichu surfing on its tail. Though the audience quickly divides in two groups, the grunts loudly cheering for their boss, and the awkward ensemble of citizens and tourists rooting for the heroine to defeat the big bad boy, a private silence seems to fall over the Garden like a blanket while you stare at each other, that unfathomable tension that sparked from the moment your gazes crossed growing thick and nearly intoxicating. And suddenly someone—you cannot even tell for sure if it’s been you or him—gives the first command and the storm ensues.

The battle is a maelstrom of blinding lightning, fire, water torrents and violent physical hits. You throw an attack and he bites back, one step forward and one step backwards, push and pull, like a dance. The air rushes into your lungs in fastened pants that echo the wild drumming of your heartbeat, blood pumping in exhilaration, and you realize that you’ve never before experienced a battle like this one: so violent, so intense, so _intimate_. What is it about this foulmouthed punk that sets every nerve in your body on fire?

Then, you see an opening in his defence and send Arcanine to break through it without missing a beat. The type advantage plays in your favour and, within seconds, your loyal canine sends a smocking Ariados back to its pokéball with a victorious howl. The corner of your opponent’s mouth twitches ever so slightly, the sweat beading on his brow betraying some unease though he’s grinning like a madman.

He does not hesitate to retaliate with a particularly spiteful water move of his Golisopod that cleaves through the ground itself, rising dust and a chorus of surprised shrieks, and just like that the tables turn again. You are down to one pokémon each.

“Don’t worry, you got him cornered,” the professor chimes in. Somehow, you find it hard to believe him. It will be a very close victory, whoever wins. “Don’t give up now!”

“Shut the fuck up already!” your opponent hollers, voice trembling with barely contained rage. “She’s a grown up girl. Aren’t you, doll? Come on, let’s finish this!”

You nod curtly, biting down on your lip to mask the thrilled grin attempting to form. Nobody should know how much you are enjoying this. Because you absolutely shouldn’t be, but you can’t help it. The little hairs on your arms stand on end with the ebb and flow of raw energy you feel rippling through the air. His encouragement pulls you back into your trainer persona without thinking, the calm but fierce mask who acts on instinct and always knows what to do in the heat of the moment. A couple of moves later, a lucky combination of Psychic and Thunderbolt earns the victory for your team when his Golisopod finally collapses.

Cleaning your sweaty forehead with the back of a hand, you call Raichu back into his pokéball with a murmured praise. You are only vaguely aware of the splitting, though weary smile adorning your face. Somewhere in the background, Kukui loudly bids his congratulations, clapping with genuine enthusiasm.

“Great job!”

His praise goes on, and something weird happens. The professor says your name. And the bad guy freezes.

“I see my dear student succeeded on rocking your world, huh, _Guzma_?”

…

Wait.

_What did he just say?_

One name. _That_ name. It's all it takes to make the entire world come to a sudden halt. The breeze rustling the treetops and the murmur of the river completely fade away to nothingness. The crowd becomes an amalgam of blurry faces surrounding the spotlight in which you both stand, dumbfounded, powerless to move or react in any way, only able to endure the hysterical beating of your heart clouding your very thoughts. A badly shaking hand clutches and twists the soft cotton of your t-shirt there were the soulmate mark seems to burn right through the fabric.

No.

_It cannot be._

But you see the truth, clear as day, in how his stormy eyes widen in epiphany—maybe in horror, too—suddenly glowing with a new light, a bit less violent and a bit warmer. Guzma looks at you in silent wonder, the boisterous man seemingly out of words. You know it must be true because of the burning on your skin, in how the bond calls for him without a voice.

It _is_ true. It’s _him_.

You feel the sudden urge to laugh at this cruel cosmic joke but the air hitches in your throat. In running away from destiny, you fell right into its treacherous arms. Your soulmate is none other than the leader of Team Skull, a delinquent, your mentor’s apparent rival, everything you had not expected him to be. And you… you can’t breathe.

Run. You want to run, but your body won’t follow your command.

Scream. You want to scream, but your voice won’t respond.

After several excruciating seconds that stretch out into a small eternity, he moves. The private, wordless conversation your bodies just partook in seems an illusion as he hides the astounding revelation, discarding the disoriented (almost… hopeful) look for a disguise of mute contempt. He gives the sign for the grunts to retreat as he unceremoniously shoves Kukui out of the way and comes to stand in front of you.

He is ridiculously tall and you feel so, so small in his presence—for various reasons. What is going to do? What are you going to do? Gripped by panic, your eyes close tightly as you shake all over, expecting and craving _something_ but not sure about _what_. His breath ghost over your ear and you jump slightly. The feeling sends a tremor down your spine. And then you feel a hand, his hand, placing something in your palm and closing your fingers around it—the victory money, you remember stupidly, as if you two had not engaged in a vicious battle mere moments ago—but all you are aware of is the maddening heat his skin awakes there where it brushes against yours.

Before he walks away, all of the Team Skull minions in tow, he proclaims something only for you to hear.

A whisper. A threat. A _promise_.

“I’ll come back for you.”

Grasping the wrinkled bills in your hand, you wait until time seemingly returns to its natural course and the crowd disperses before crumbling down on the pavement. You are going to need that bottle of wine sooner than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last edited on 17 July 2018.


	3. Running From Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't keep living in denial forever, but you can try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Going away won't change anything if you're running from yourself.”  
> Joyce Rachelle
> 
>  
> 
> I honestly can't believe the amount of interest this story is generating in just a handful of days.  
> You are AWESOME and I thank all of your support. ♥ 
> 
> Short-ish and not-that-much remarkable chapter. It connects the first one with what is to come - Guzma, Guzma and more Guzma.  
> These past days have been kind of stressful (hello, anxiety, my old friend) and my writing wouldn't come out entirely as I desired... but I wanted to give you another chapter today because tomorrow I go back home for Christmas. I might edit some parts if I find the time. 
> 
> I hope it's not too disappointing. The good stuff is just around the corner, don't fret! :)
> 
> PS. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Despite trying your hardest to pretend nothing out of the ordinary has happened, that everything is still the same and nothing has changed, you don’t buy your own petty lies. Something very important has changed and you can feel it thrumming beneath your skin.

You keep looking over your shoulder expecting _him_ to appear out of nowhere. Guzma. Your soulmate. Words that even unspoken make you shudder.

Even though you had vowed to take some time off and rest in Malie for a little while, the unexpected turn of events occupies your every thought and hinders any prospect of relaxation. This is how you found yourself back on the road, the very day following that fateful encounter, and stranded in the middle of nowhere a couple of days later. Jumping onto the first opportunity to keep moving, keep working, keep your mind occupied, was a much subconscious decision, seeking to get as far away as possible from the epicentre of your inner turmoil.

_It’s not like I’m running away_ , you have told yourself time and time again. Not running. Not afraid. You just have lots of things to do, places to visit, criminal leaders to avoid. Who are you trying to convince, exactly?

“Not running away,” as you pack your things and leave in the middle of the night, treading through the tall grass with a flashlight in hand, desperate to leave the dark silhouette of the city and its orange glow behind.

“Still not running away,” as you walk up the mountain slope of Route 12, climbing, scrapping your hands and knees, and tripping over misplaced rocks in your urgency to move on.

“Definitely not running away,” as you struggle with the elements to secure a fraying tarp over a pair of conveniently shaped boulders that will keep the nasty sandstorm in check throughout what will be your second night lost in Haina Desert.

_I’m not… I’m…_

Alright, maybe you  _are_  running away. Just a little bit.

But, what else can you do when there’s someone out there hunting you down? Someone who an unknown mystic force seemingly decided should be by your side for the rest of your life, who is supposed to represent everything you need but for some twisted reason happens to be your enemy, whose mere existence makes you feel weird and  _not yourself_  in so many ways. Someone whose touch you can literally feel, like ghost fingers, while all alone.

How is anyone normal supposed to react to such a life-changing incident? They would be over the moon. They would celebrate. They would do _anything but_ run away.

Too bad you have never been normal, especially when dealing with emotional stuff.

“I’m scared,” you admit out loud for the first time, huddling closer to the back wall of your precarious shelter while the vicious wind howls outside.

Eevee curls into an even smaller ball on your lap, trembling, every bit as frightened as you are although for different reasons. The canvas cover bears the battering of the flying sand better than you had expected, for the time being, but you could be stuck here for who knows how long and you can only hope it’s strong enough to last until the storm is gone.

This was not part of the plan.

You should have stayed in Malie, rely on your friends, stop and think for a minute before running away…. from someone that will find you, no matter what. From something inevitable. From _yourself_.

 

* * *

 

After you managed to pull yourself together, the professor had agreed to treat you to dinner to celebrate your bittersweet victory. It was easy to tell he knew something was wrong but for whatever reason he chose not to ask. He sent apprehensive glances across the table, admittedly more comprehensive than judgemental, every time you ordered more wine. But he never addressed the Donphan in the room, which made you feel even worse. If there was anyone that would understand what you were going through, it would be him—bonded, married, and everything—but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak about it.

Not yet.

You had to drink yourself into oblivion first.

Although perhaps he had already connected the dots by himself after witnessing the exaggerated reaction at learning about each other’s names and understood it would be rude to bring such a personal topic up unless you decided to, which was a gesture you greatly appreciated. Either way, it was a conversation you would have to endure at some point and the more you waited the more complicated it would be to explain the whole mess. Not everybody would understand why you turned around and ran in the opposite direction upon finally meeting your soulmate when it usually was the other way around. And while Kukui was not everybody, the fact that he seemed to know Guzma well enough and had chosen to stay a silent participant in your self-pity party looked like a bad sign.

Thus, you drank.

The details about how you got back to the room you had rented at the Pokémon Centre that night were vague and embarrassing—they involved throwing up in an alley and crying on the professor’s shoulder, so you chose to forget all about it. At any rate, the hangover didn’t bother you as much as the memories from the previous evening did. The pounding head and the dry mouth you could handle but you didn’t have a clue about what to do with the strange sensation that had nested on your chest after meeting Guzma.

You had not planned on going outside that day, or on leaving the bed for that matter, alternating between staring at the cracks on the ceiling and screaming into the pillow amid heavenly episodes of unconsciousness. Since you were unwavering on this mission of ignoring the world in hopes it just forgot about your existence altogether, by noon Lillie took it upon herself to check if you were still alive.

She knocked on the door and obtained an inhuman groan in response.

When no one came to receive her, she knocked again and it was your sweet Primarina—who so efficiently filled in the mom role within your team—that opened the door after another minute of disgraceful silence on your part. The pokéball had activated on its own. Or you had called her out to avoid moving. It was difficult to discern in your perpetual state of confusion.

They walked inside to find you sprawled on the bare mattress, blankets and pillows kicked to the far corner of the room in an angry fit.

“What are you doing in the dark? It’s getting late,” asked the young girl in a reprimanding tone laced with concern. “Are you alright?” she went on when you remained lifeless. “The professor said to leave you be, but you promised we’d spend some time together before you leave again… and I know you’ll be going soon. Come on, you can’t stay in bed all day!”

“… Who says I can’t?”

“Me!”

She opened the curtains so that the bright sunlight poured inside and, when you merely rolled over to face the wall without answering, she pounced on the bed. The springs of the mattress protested with each jump and you joined the unhappy squeaks.

“ _Stooooop_ ,” you whined, shielding your head with a stray pillow. “ _Lillieeeee_.”

“Not until you give me a good reason!”

When her bony knee collided with your hip in a small explosion of pain, you pushed yourself out of the bed. Literally. “Okay, okay, you’re right,” you sighed from your new position on  the floor. “I _did_ say I’d take you shopping. Just… give me a minute.”

If only to honour your words, and to escape her wrath, you dragged yourself to the bathroom and tried your best at personifying a decent-looking human being while slowly dying on the inside. However, it had been the secret hope of occupying your mind with something other than your mental screaming what actually gave you the strength to step outdoors at last.

Lillie beamed at seeing you dressed in a blouse and a skirt, out of all things, and insisted on doing your make-up and brushing your hair. The sweet domesticity of those moments made you smile.

You let her grab your hand and pull you all around Malie, up and down the streets swarming with tourists there were something caught her interest on a display window. For a few blissful hours, it was almost easy to pretend you weren’t in Alola at all, since the place held many aesthetic influences from your homeland. It particularly reminded you of your cousin’s home in Ecruteak City, in Johto, which you loved and all of a sudden missed terribly.

“I wish I could visit it someday,” said Lillie, wistful, after you shared some childhood memories with her.

You dropped by the apparel shop first, trying on the most ridiculous clothes you could find to send Hau some funny photos along with an invitation for lunch later. You waited patiently in a corner, watching over _Nebby_ and Eevee as the small pokémon played together at your feet, while your honorary little sister picked a new outfit— _it was a secret_ , though, and _no one could see it yet_ , she said.

After dropping the bags at your room, she proposed having a picnic at Malie Garden, at which you paled and awkwardly suggested going to the Malasada shop instead, in spite of being a bit sick of eating the fried treats several times a week. Hau showed up in record time, gluttonous as ever, to share a quick meal before heading to the Observatory, at long last, for his own attempt at Sophocles’ trial. You tried to make the most of that leisure time, knowing, rather guiltily, that once you left Malie you would not see either of your young friends for a while.

Before he left, you offered him some last minute advice and cheering words, even if the boy already possessed an endless wellspring of optimism inside him. “Good luck! Make sure to let us know how it goes.”

Then, you headed to the library. The soothing smell of dusty, old books assaulted your senses as soon as you walked inside. You had taken an immediate liking to the magnificent building during your first visit, days ago, but there wasn’t enough time in your hands to read through every volume that caught your eye. Lillie confided she had been there before, as well. She led you upstairs, to the Ancient History section, and told you about how one of the island captains you had yet to meet, a peculiar but friendly girl named Acerola, had helped her find the book she needed. But she had ran out of reading material already and still had many unanswered questions in her mind.

For as long as you had known her, Lillie had been on a serious quest to unveil the mystery that was the little Cosmog who called her bag its home. You tried to help in whatever way you could—mainly by exploring the ruins scattered around the islands, given your limited knowledge on her other topic of research: quantum physics.

You were reading through the myths of  _The Light of Alola_ , the book Lillie had been speaking about nonstop, when she walked to the table you occupied and dropped a small mountain of heavy volumes on it, earning curious stares from the other visitors. The girl looked so deep in concentration while sorting through the pile that you could not help but feel oddly proud of her determination.

“This one may be useful… and this one here, too, but I don’t know… Maybe,” she muttered to herself. But suddenly she raised her blonde head and sought your opinion. “Hey, what do you think about this one? It could make for an interesting reading, right?”

Raising your gaze, you saw the elegant-looking book she held in front of your face, bound in a velvety black material with faded golden letters, and were instantaneously hit by a dizzy spell. _Two Halves of a Whole, a Thorough Insight into Soulmate Bonds_.

You jumped backwards in such hastiness that the chair almost toppled over.

She called out your name with a soft, enquiring voice. “Is something wrong?”

“No, everything’s… just fine,” you cleared your suddenly dry throat. “But why would you be interested in such a thing, anyway?”

“Well, since I’m studying folklore I just thought, you know…” Lillie looked down at the book, blushing slightly. “I’ve always thought soul bonds are fascinating. To know this beautiful energy exists, old as time, holding the world together. I guess it’s kind of scary, too, but look at how happy Professor Kukui and Professor Burnet are and how amazing they are together! It's a perfect union. I can’t wait to see whose name appears on my skin when the time comes, to meet them and see where our own story leads.”

Now the chair _did_ topple over.

“Why?” you nearly screamed, earning ugly glowers from the people occupying the nearby tables. “Why concern yourself with something like that? You’re talented, young and _free_ , Lillie—enjoy that blessing while you can. Soulmates are… bullshit. You don’t need anyone else to feel complete. Bonds are not romantic, they’re an unescapable curse the universe throws upon you without even asking. And when that supposed special person finally shows up, maybe they’re not what you expected, and then… _what can you do_? Absolutely nothing! You’re _screwed_ and you can’t do anything about it.”

She looked so devastated in that moment, so stunned and hurt by your disproportionate outburst, that you stuttered out an apology and left the premises with tears of mortification burning your eyes.

She had not deserved that.

Nobody deserved to be a punching-ball for your troubled feelings.

But you didn’t know how to handle them, and you didn’t want anyone else to suffer because you were freaking out about finding your soulmate.

Before you could as much as think what you were doing, you found yourself back at the Pokémon Centre and had already started throwing your belongings into your bag without rhyme or reason. You sent a quick message to Professor Kukui, sharing your intention of disappearing for a little while, trusting he would tell the others. What you desperately needed right now was to leave Malie City behind, focus on working and training, and forget about everything that had happened the day before. And the absurd truth was that nothing had happened _yet_ , but it  _would_  happen.

You could still hear Guzma’s words— _feel_  them, ghosting hotly over your skin—when he said he would come back for you.

Well, if he thought you would be waiting patiently for him to enter the scene, take hold of your life and ruin it, he was sorely mistaken.

Long story short, that is how you currently find yourself lost—partially on purpose, partially by accident—in the labyrinth that is Haina Desert, tired of finding sand in places you would prefer not to mention but relatively calm knowing no one in their right mind would look for you here. From time to time your mind plays tricks on you, drawing shadows on the clouds of swirling dust where there are none, but you haven’t crossed paths with anyone since you entered the area beyond a slightly deranged man mumbling incoherently about a pokémon he had lost a long time ago.

The original route you had traced on the map ignored the desert completely and continued on to Tapu Village, but not even a day after leaving Malie you noticed someone was most definitely following you. It was a bothersome dot in the corner of your vision that vanished as soon as you turned around; sometimes more than one. You thought paranoia was toying with you until you spotted one of the grunts of Team Skull standing amid the foliage holding a couple of branches on the air and pretending to be a tree.

An angry pokémon battle later, he swore he would leave you alone. “I was just followin’ orders, yo!”

But even after the rascal disappeared, you felt watched. Not safe in the open. Controlled by that phantom thread hooked on your chest. Hence the running headfirst into a dangerous desert. You thought that course of action would throw any other stalkers off your trail, and it would certainly be awesome if you could find the Ruins of Abundance and do some research. Showing up with a bunch of useful notes for Lillie might soften the blow you had delivered to her trust.

And, for the better part of two days, the last item in a long list of unhealthy coping methods you had resorted to in order to escape from reality turned out to be quite productive. Not only did you capture lots of different pokémon species that dwelled in the barren land but also found interesting objects buried in the sand, and you were too busy trying to remember which turn you had taken in the last intersection to worry about anything else. Painfully soon you realized it had been an incredibly stupid decision, though, and that you had not come prepared at all. The moment you saw the sandstorm approaching, a ball of lead dropped in your stomach. There was no cell reception. Page Riders did not work out there. Nobody knew where you were. Your only option was waiting under that battered tarp, hoping it held together.

But, more than that, you now realize you can’t hide forever. And not only because food and water won’t last you much longer.

You have the nagging impression that, no matter how far you go,  _he_  will find you. Just like he vowed. There are random times, especially on those sleepless hours at night as you lay on your bedroll looking at the stars, deep in thought, when his name on your chest starts to tingle and respond to a foreign presence. It constitutes the lightest of sensations, the tip a feather tracing patterns on your skin, but you swear it feels so utterly real it’s disconcerting. And you know it’s  _him_ , thinking about you, knowing _you_ are thinking about him, exercising some sort of unspeakable power over your mind that makes your heart race and your thoughts cloud.

It both infuriates and mortifies you, wondering what the man at the other side of that invisible bridge must be doing for the bond to pass such intimate feelings onto you. Even the pokémon battles you have engaged in these past days haven’t felt the same after the one against Guzma. No matter how you proceed, they always lack a certain _something_ to make them one hundred percent satisfying: they are not intense enough, exciting enough, violent enough… which sounds rather disturbing. They are nothing like what you felt back there, in front of him, passion and fury coiled tightly inside. No other trainer can elicit the same response out of you in the battlefield.

Despite all your efforts to prevent it, your world is already changing because of your meeting. And it’s maddening.

Can you even fight against something like this? Can you even fight against _fate_?

You feel so stupid. So powerless. So small and afraid.

But, just for the record, you are not running away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last edited on 19 July 2018.


	4. Just Two Lost Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only takes a near-death experience and a late night visit to face your demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're just two lost souls  
> Swimming in a fish bowl  
> Year after year."  
> Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd
> 
>  
> 
> I'm SO sorry about the massive delay. I'm already ass-deep in essays and exams, plus the whole chaos of Christmas and all the family-related issues that come with it, so... The scarce time I've found to work on this story, I just kept re-writing this chapter because I didn't quite like the result. I'm sure there are a lot of flaws in there, as I practically merged three different plotlines together and dialogues are so not my forte. I might do some editing.
> 
> Good news: I'm alive and still working on this.  
> Bad news: I doubt I'll be updating as fast as I did when I first published the fic - unless I find the time and inspiration strikes.
> 
> Thank you all for your support - and your patience! ^^
> 
> PS. One of you suggested in a comment I should stop using name blanks - (y/n)s - because they interrupt the narrative, and maybe give the protagonist a real name. I can do it, if you want. What are your thoughts on that?

The world has become a sterile, luminous place when your eyes open after a deep slumber you cannot remember slipping into.

A fog whirls inside your head, blurring and distorting the edge of consciousness, thick as honey and pasty as milk. It renders the mere attempt at thinking impossible. All your senses are lethargic, at best. Then you notice, bewildered, that there is no sand to be found, no boulders, no roughness…, everything around you is impossibly soft and white. And you are very much  _naked_ beneath the silky bedsheets.

The last thing you remember is fighting off a pesky horde of wild Sandiles that proved hellbent on stealing your bag. They didn’t succeed. At least you think so. But those images don’t exactly add up with the current situation. Gripped by sudden panic, you try to reach for your pokéballs but find your arms useless, heavy and retrained by something.

Weariness and disorientation win the battle and your eyes drop closed. _Just one second_ … But the next time they flutter open, the lights have dimmed significantly and a pokémon nurse stands by the bedside to your left, clad in their usual pink uniform. She is checking the intravenous line attached to your arm amid other various wires—what you felt earlier—and doesn’t realize anything until you try to speak, only a pitiful whimper leaving your parched throat.

The nurse jumps, startled. “Oh, dear… wait a moment.” She disappears beyond the white curtain that isolates your convalescent nest from the rest of the world and returns shortly after holding a tall glass of water. With utmost care, she places the rim on your chapped lips and helps you drink. Until now, you had not realized how impossibly thirsty you were, downing the vital liquid in long greedy gulps. Without as much as a word of warning, she moves it away when you’re about halfway done and a noise of protest chases the glass. “Take it easy or you’ll throw up and make it worse.”

Reluctantly, you nod and accept a couple more sips of water before clearing your throat. Speaking burns a little. Your voice comes out low and raspy: “What happened?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“Well… This doesn’t look like the desert.”

She almost looks amused for an instant before retreating to a more professional façade. “We’re at the Pokémon Centre on Route 13 and it’s…” She checks her wristwatch. “Ten past five in the afternoon of Thursday the 24th. Another trainer found you unconscious and dehydrated inside Haina and brought here yesterday evening. We pumped some liquids into you but other than that you just needed to sleep soundly for nineteen hours straight.”

The more she talks, the more fragmented memories come to mind composing a psychedelic kaleidoscope of images that tell a mortifying and somewhat unbelievable story.

“Don’t feel embarrassed, hon. You weren’t the first and won’t be the last to get lost in that wicked place,” she says, clearly misinterpreting the source of your contrite expression. “It happens a couple of times every month, so we always have a room ready, in case the Rangers find some poor soul out there. Trust me, this is nothing compared with we’ve seen around here. You were none the worse for the wear, once we got rid of all that grime and dirt. Consider yourself lucky. Stay away from the sun for a bit, drink plenty of water, and you should recover in no time. But I would refrain from venturing into any desert in the near future, if I were you…”

“I’m not planning on _ever_ going back in there,” you chuckle weakly, not a trace of humour in your croaky voice. Under the sheets, your chest rises and falls with a deep sigh. “Thanks for taking care of me. I didn’t expect it to go downhill like that.”

“You reckless trainers. A thirst for adventure usually translates into a lack of judgement,” she admonishes. “What were you thinking, going in there without supllies? You don’t look much like a rookie.”

“I wasn’t really thinking at the moment, so…  _yeah_.”

“I see.”

She places another glass of water within your reach and disappears again, this time for more than a few minutes. You lie back down, still disoriented and still disbelieving your tremendous stupidity. The refreshing liquid does its job, helping a bit in dissipating the haziness, though not as much and certainly not as fast as you wanted. All you can think about is how foolish you have been, only just refraining from banging your head against the wall to forget everything.

You haven’t moved an inch when your caretaker re-enters your small white world accompanied by a Chansey wearing a small nurse cap on its pink round head and carrying a bundle of clothes in its paws. It leaves them at the foot of the bed and you recognize your shorts and tank top, mercifully devoid of dust although slightly more tattered than you remember them.

Together, they work swiftly in disentangling the annoying wires and tubes from your body.

“There you go, hon.” The nurse helps you sit up against the bedpost. “We’ll give you some privacy. When you’re ready, there’s an actual room upstairs under your name so I’ll take you there.”

You stop fumbling with the raggedy thing that used to be your favourite top. “Staying here? I don’t know…”

“Oh, it’s all taken care of already,” she dismisses your vacillation. “We felt in the obligation of calling your emergency contact, of course, it’s the usual procedure.”

“You did  _what_?”

_Shit._

You cannot remember who your emergency contact is here in the islands, or even if you changed it after you moved. Burnet did most of the paperwork. If your parents happen to appear through that door, you swear you will jump out the nearest window.

Fifteen minutes later you half-walk, half-wobble after the nurse, arm hooked around hers to avoid falling on your ass—another embarrassing situation you would prefer not to add to the list. On the bright side, there is no immediate sign of your family whatsoever. The not-so-bright side comes when she pushes the door to room 207 open and you find a very pissed off-looking Professor Kukui waiting at the other side. Everything about his stance screams you are in for one thorough scolding. The usual grin touching his lips is nowhere to be seen, mouth set in a grim line instead, and his arms are crossed over his tanned chest in an intimidating stance that makes you gulp.

The nurse is gone from your side before you realize it and the door closes ominously.

A moment later he says your name through clenched teeth, sounding exasperated and tired, and you resign yourself to face the inevitable. You probably deserve whatever he had to say, anyway. Mumbling your own tiny greeting, you hang your head down like a guilty child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

He exhales deep and long, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath the line of his glasses with thumb and forefinger. “Have you any idea of how worried I’ve been? How worried _we_ have been? First you disappear all of a sudden, nobody hears a word from you in almost two weeks, and then I’m told you almost got yourself killed!”

“It was an accident,” you exclaim, a rather poor attempt at justification despite its veracity. “Besides, it wasn’t that serious. I just got a bit lost, and I already feel terrible about it without anyone reminding me.”

“Really? Because I don’t think you understand. That place is dangerous and you could’ve _died_  out there!”

The bitterness and disappointment laced into his voice have you at the verge of tears. “But I didn’t!”

“But you _could have_. How did that even happen?”

“It wasn’t planned. I needed to get away from the main road… because reasons,” is your lame explanation. He doesn’t seem to buy it. “I thought I could go in there, find the ruins, take some notes, spend a couple of days training my team’s endurance and get out. Simple. I memorized the markers, I knew the way back to the entrance, but then the sandstorm hit and it messed everything up. Nothing was where it was supposed to be and I couldn’t get in touch with anyone on the outside, so I just walked and walked… until I couldn’t walk anymore, I guess.”

The professor’s expression shifts through the narration of the events until settling into a concerned scowl. “Well,” he sighs. “Considering the other possible outcomes I guess I should be glad it wasn’t worse than this but—”

“Can’t we just forget it? Really, I’m fine.”

“No, you clearly aren’t,” he raises his voice with a vehemence that disconcerts you. This is not just Kukui, the friend you can merrily joke around with, but Professor Kukui, your superior. Gesturing at the sofa, you get the hint and drag your feet to sit beside him. The moment you drop on those plush cushions you know you won’t be getting up anytime soon. “Listen, I think I know why you’re running around like that and, I get it, you’re freaking out. And rightly so. However, it doesn’t excuse such irresponsible behaviour. Putting yourself in danger to avoid reality? I thought you better than that. I know you _are_ better than that. I don’t like yelling at you without good reason. By now you’re as much my student as you are my friend and I don’t want to receive another emergency call saying you did something reckless, you hear me? If you need help, if I can help somehow… just _ask_. Don’t bottle it up. Now, look me in the eye and say you won’t do anything like that again.”

“I won’t, professor. I’m sorry. And I promise you’ll be the first person I’ll turn to when I’m ready to talk about _that_.”

The grin returns to his face, wide and full of affection, as he pulls you into a hug.

“Alright, let’s get some food in you, silly girl. You look terrible.”

 

* * *

 

The list stuck to the inside of the door is to be your sacred guidelines over the rest of the week. Number one: no alarms, just _sleep_ _as much as you need_. Number two: _drink_ a lot of _water_. Number three: eat _only_ what the nurses say is adequate. Some words are underlined and circled for emphasis. The unwritten number four would be to stop being a stubborn patient and pupil.

Kukui has paid for the private room in advance, so it’s not like you are going anywhere before a full recovery. It would be an enormous waste. The average trainer usually goes for the cheaper rooms in the first floor that merely cover the basic needs and often have to be shared with a handful of other travellers—or spend the night on a bench of the lobby if they’re particularly undemanding—, nothing fancy on the second floor where the prices are higher on a par with the accommodations. The difference is abysmal. Most people choose a road motel if they’re looking forward no not sharing a bathroom because it’s cheaper. This sort of room is reserved for pokémon trainers that have already made a name for themselves and have the money and reputation to prove it.

After testing the fluffiness of the queen-sized bed, you take your time to explore the private bathroom and the living room area consisting of a large two-seater couch, a coffee table and a modern TV-set you’re eager to get acquainted with after so many weeks away from all mundane things, including channel surfing. You can’t recall the last time you sat down to watch a movie, or sat down period without worrying about having to be somewhere else. There is also a kitchenette stocked with the essential equipment and an arrange of basic supplies, providing a home-cooked alternative to the usual cafeteria grub. Now, having an actual oven in your hands could be something to look forward to if you could actually eat whatever you want but you doubt they’ll let you bake cookies unless they accept some as bribe.

Food is carted in by a Chansey at dinner time: a huge pitcher of water and bowls with some sort of vegetable purée and a colourful assortment of pieces of fruit with a side of painkillers. A far cry from the sort of food you crave but probably the most your feeble stomach can handle at the moment. _Oh, joy_. You eye the much more appetizing plate that is set in front of the professor before reluctantly picking up the spoon.

“Please, do as you’re told. Right now, focus on recovering. It will also give you plenty of time to think, to come to terms with whatever is haunting you,” he says, pointedly. Both of you know what he means by that but none is willing to be the first to say it out loud. “Lillie’s been staying at the Aether House. Everybody expected you to show up there at some point, so we started worrying when you didn’t. Go there once you’re feeling better. I’ll inform them of the situation.”

“Alright, alright…”

Every bit of food eventually disappears among trivial talk and an absentminded reacquaintance with the news channel, finding some much-needed comfort in the professor’s company. By then, it’s gotten dark outside. According to the reporter smiling falsely to the camera on the TV, nothing of much importance seems to have occurred while you were in the desert. It’s kind of funny how the world keeps turning, regardless of everything else.

Kukui gathers up the dirty dishes and tidies up a little before giving you another hug and showing himself out. He stops at the threshold and points an authoritative finger at you whilst canalizing his teacher persona: “I don’t want to repeat myself, you know what you have to do. And I _will_ know if you don’t do it. Just let me know when you meet up with Lillie. I mean it – call me.”

Alone at last, whatever strength you had managed to brandish in an effort to appear stronger than you felt evaporates as quickly as a puddle in the sun and your shoulders sag. His footsteps raise an echo through the hallway outside as he walks away. The building must be empty already, safe for whatever unfortunate nurse is covering the graveyard shift and the other trainers staying the night on the lower floor.

Not feeling like heading to bed yet—even though you probably should, considering your head feels full of cotton now that the meds are kicking in—, you settle back on the couch for a little while and play with the TV remote. Several jumps later you find an old cartoon show you used to love. You didn’t even know they broadcasted it outside of Kanto, and homesickness sweeps through you, recalling those distant childhood days.

Perhaps it’s time to swallow your pride and call home, at least to say hello and ask how everyone is doing, and perhaps you should mention you have been briefly hospitalized. Perhaps.

 _Yeah, not sure if I’m ready to face that Dragon Rage yet_.

Predictably, you start dozing off after half an episode and are suddenly startled by the sound of frantic knocking. With a pained groan, somehow you push yourself away from the cushions’ embrace.

Did the professor forget something?

But the person that meets you on the other side is _not_ your mentor. A big humanoid shadow stands with his back to the window, towering with his hands shoved inside the pockets of an unmistakable baggy black and white jacket. You have seen very few people as tall as _him_ and, even in the darkness, it takes a split second to recognize the glint of those grey eyes as they reflect the faint moonlight. Rendered frozen by the surprise, you hold onto the handle seeking some sort of balance to keep yourself upright.

_Oh, fuck._

“It took me ages to track you down. This stupid place is guarded like a castle. What are ya, the princess locked in the fuckin’ tower?” the gruff, husky voice you had convinced yourself to have forgotten confirms the authenticity of what you wished had been a drug-induced apparition He really is here. “Hey, are ya goin’ to let me in or what?”

No reactions comes for a full minute, you stand there like a Deerling caught in the headlights while debating whether he would leave you alone if you close the door on his face. Probably not. Biting the inside of your cheek, you take a hesitant step to the side to clear the entrance. There is no running away now. Guzma walks inside, his huge body brushing slightly against yours in the process. Intentional or not, the brief contact feels like a shock of static electricity.

The second the door clicks shut, the atmosphere changes. The air thickens and your heart lodges in your throat. All alone with him within these four walls, you feel as if caged with a wild and unpredictable beast in front of whom you feel oh-so-weak. However, he looks _almost_ as uncomfortable and uncertain as you do, much different than your violent memory of him. Not calm, never calm, always some sort of anger buzzing in his veins, but he looks far less intimidating at the moment.

He paces restlessly around the room, intent stare transfixed on you. Looking you up and down, in search of something that isn’t there, he averts his eyes to the side after not finding it. “You look… fine,” he says, scratching the back of his head.

Whatever you were expecting him to do or say, it wasn’t that.

The remark throws you off.

“Thank you?”

“I didn’t… I mean, ugh, dammit,” he groans, grabbing handfuls of discoloured hair and yanking, exasperated, or angry, or some other emotion that sits wrong in your gut. The sting of pain he inflicts on himself, albeit fleeting, makes you flinch as if it were your own to suffer. “I don’t know, I thought you’d be in worse shape. I felt somethin’ _bad_ and it wouldn’t leave me alone. This stupid bond thingy must be defective.”

He came all the way here because the soulmark told him you were in danger? Is he actually  _concerned_?

“It isn’t,” you blurt. “Defective, I mean. Whatever you felt was true, I did have a little mishap. Nothing to worry about anymore, though.”

“Oh.”

“So, if that’s all—”

You would rather he gets out of your sight as soon as possible because you’re finding it pretty darn difficult to think clearly with him around. The same invasion of unfamiliar notions prods around your brain like a cold hand asking for entrance and the barrier to the sanctuary of your mind isn’t all that sturdy at the moment, to be perfectly honest. The idea that he might use that weakness to his advantage scares you witless.

“Wait,” he hastens to say, noticing your hand gripping the door handle white-knuckled, ready to kick him out. “We should talk. Probably.”

“Probably,” you echo in a whisper, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as if looking for a strength that sadly eludes you.

The conversation, no matter how unwished for, is bound to happen at some point even if you went and rejected this opportunity. It has been a long time coming. Almost a decade. This seems as good a moment as any other, if only because it’s a little too late to run away and the meds have significantly dulled the edges of your disposition, assuring a more diplomatic approach than would have taken place in more ordinary circumstances—when you _would_ have been quicker to react and likely closed the door on his face.

 _So, I know I can behave. But can_ he _?_

A long sigh marks your decision. Here goes nothing.

His head, that had been hanging in expectant despondency, jerks to the sound of your steps as you walk away from the door and towards the designated kitchen space. “Would you like something to drink?” you ask over your shoulder.

He shrugs, back to the head-scratching.

However petty it sounds, knowing he is nervous too makes you feel slightly less vulnerable.

Failing at suppressing the tiniest smug smirk, you start rummaging through the tall cabinets with his puzzled gaze burning a hole in your back. There has to be something useful around here. A peace offering. From the second cupboard you search, you snatch two mugs, but it’s in the third cupboard where you find salvation. Reaching up to the highest shelf, extending first your arm and then your whole body until standing on your tiptoes, you hardly skim the object with one fingertip. Several seconds into the pathetic show, another hand comes out of nowhere and shoots past yours to grab the brown box that sits next to the herbal tea you were about to pick. You stay put as he appears behind you, places the package on the counter by the cups and disappears, fast and devastating like a hurricane.

Shaking off the stupefaction, you reach for the box, reading the familiar logo on the front. Tapu Cocoa.

“Not a huge fan of tea?” you question, risking a glance over your shoulder to find Guzma sitting sprawled on the couch, legs spread wide and arms resting nonchalantly on the back.

“Hell no,” he guffaws. “No offense, doll, but that shit is nothin’ but hot water.”

“I beg to differ. But I could use a cup of cocoa right now, anyway.”

You pretend not to notice his triumphant smirk. The corners of your mouth also twitch upwards before pursing into a frown.

This novel, unforeseen level of familiarity has you on your toes. Confused beyond words. Self-conscious. Calm. Wary. Thrilled. Everything at once. _Don’t let your guard down_ , you have to remind yourself. Trying to tune out his presence and the wandering thoughts about a gangster choosing a childish beverage, you stubbornly keep your eyes on the stove as the milk heats up, adding the cocoa powder at the right time and stirring the pot until the delicious smell of chocolate tickles your nostrils and fills the room. It helps to soothe your nerves, if only for a merciful second.

More or less satisfied with the result, you dump the used pot on the sink and return to the sitting area with two steaming mugs, offering one to your unwelcome guest before also settling down on the corner of the couch you previously occupied. Neither mentions how you recoil when his fingers graze yours for the shortest-lived instant as you pass him the cup nor how adamantly you seem on putting as much distance as physically possible between your bodies. His hands are large, with long fingers, and slightly callous. And very, very warm.

Entranced in such absurd observations, you disregard basic caution and burn your tongue on the cocoa. _Serves you right_.

Silence hangs heavy, charged with a thousand unspoken words and a thousand confusing emotions none of you seems brave enough to express. There’s so much that could be said, that _needs_ to be said, it appears impossible to find a beginning. You wonder whether it’s always so awkward whenever two mates find each other. People make it sound so easy, so magical, so… not struggling with the very notions of good and evil at discovering one another’s identity.

The longer you sit there, pretending to pay attention to the silly cartoon show while stealing peeks at him—an action he readily mirrors when your head is turned the other way—, the more absurd it all becomes. And yet, the less willing you feel to break the screen of nonsensicality.

This is the first real opportunity you have had to study Guzma up close. It would be pointless to deny that he is good-looking, much to your chagrin. And even those who would never use that specific adjective to describe him would agree that he _is_ attractive in a rugged, bad boy kind of way. He has a set of elegant features, even if they look entirely out of place on someone so intent on twisting them with angry grimaces; thick shapely eyebrows, a strong jaw and a long nose with a slight hook to it. Broad shoulders, long legs. His exposed forearms show pale, corded muscles and purple ink. His hair looks ridiculously soft and those steely eyes might as well be the most gorgeous you have ever seen. You cannot help but wonder whether the body hiding under those loose-fitting clothes is slender in accordance to his height or more thickly built as it seems to be the case. You cannot help but desire to check it personally. _Argh!_ Fighting against this would be far easier if he resulted disgusting to the senses—but, quite the reverse, your entire being reacts to every little movement he makes like responding to a siren’s call. He’s all boldness, all harshness, all beckoning fire—and it infuriates you.

All too soon the cocoa is gone and, with it, the time-out.

“So, are ya  _really_  alright?”

You throw a sideways way in his direction, swirling the dregs at the bottom of your mug around. “Honestly?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well,” you start, pondering what to say and finding the task harder than it should. Even your words come out slurred. “I can’t really feel my brain at the moment. But that’s mostly cuz of the drugs. I’ve slept away, like, a whole day but I’m still so tired I wanna cry. My throat burns. My head hurts. Not gonna lie, I’ve been better – but I could have pretty much died, so… yeah. I guess I’m alright.”

He doesn’t look pleased, at all, but he states: “Good.”

Silence envelops the room again and you start caving into this new wave of drowsiness, barely refraining from falling asleep on the spot by reminding yourself that Guzma is _right there_ and that would be a disastrous idea.

Rubbing your eyes, you turn towards him fully intent in suggesting his prompt departure and notice a peculiar seriousness on his expression, frown shifting as he struggles with something for a few minutes before asking in a low voice: “Didja really go into that a fuckin’ desert where you could’ve,” he made quote marks with his fingers. “’ _Pretty much died’_ just to get away from me? Do I repulse you that much?”

The empty cup nearly slips from your hands in shock and you think it wise to relinquish your hold on it altogether.

“I d-didn’t… and you don’t… Look, I panicked, okay? I needed time. And you sent those – those guys – to follow me!”

He exhales, long and slow, as if releasing pressure. “Those numbskulls weren’t supposed to scare you off. I just wanted to know…”

“Where to find me, even if I didn’t want you to?”

“I’m no stalker.”

“Sure.”

“I’m not!” he snarls. “But believe whatever you want. I don’t need anyone to find ya – in case you forgot, we’re fuckin’ connected. I found you tonight without help, didn’t I?”

You shrug, massaging your increasingly throbbing temples. Now you regret agreeing to have this conversation tonight.

Either because he is more observant that you gave him credit for or because the bond tells him so, he notices your discomfort and stands up, passing an overwrought hand through his hair. “Look, this is obviously a bad time so I’ll just make my point clear and leave. You don’t like the situation. You don’t _want_ this. I get it. Big bag Guzma is more than you bargained for – not the person you prolly dreamed about as a lil’ girl. It’s not like I asked to be stuck with an antsy, meddling, goody-two-shoes trainer either. Or to meet her now of all times. But that’s the way things fuckin’ are and we’re stuck in this mess together, so… get over it, _Princess_.”

“Call me that one more time and—"

“Shh. Still my turn to talk.”

_The nerve!_

He doesn’t allow much of a response, pinning you down with those piercing grey eyes, arms crossed over his barrel of a chest and making you feel very small, albeit also very indignant. “What I’m tryin' to say is that you can run from this all you want but it won’t go away. I won’t magically disappear. We can keep fightin’, I’ll be the villain if you wanna play heroine a bit longer. I rather enjoyed our battle the other day,” the last part comes out as a small growl and your body reacts in a similar way at remembering the intensity of the match, painting your face a lovely shade of Cheri Berry red. He doesn’t need to know that you enjoyed it as well, maybe a bit too much. “Now, let me see it and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Let you see… _what_?”

The question morphs into a squeak when you become aware of how gradually he has closed the distance as he spoke, how absorbed you were in your own little world as to even notice he had moved. Guzma releases a soft huff. He looks down at you, standing in the space between your knees. “Come on, you know what.”

Unconsciously, your hand migrates to the incriminating throb on your ribcage and his gaze follows the movement, a rare light shining behind it.

A short while later, you realize he is _waiting_ —for permission, for denial, for whatever you will offer. And what will you offer? Refusing the request and telling him to fuck off is the immediate option that threatens to roll off your tongue without thinking. You’re hurting, fatigued and more than a little fed up with the situation. His petition doesn’t sound unreasonable, all things considered. You would have expected it before he asked, if perspicacity wasn’t something out of your grasp at the moment. It would be as fast as ripping a Band-Aid off, and it would get him to leave.

Without looking up from your hands tightly folded in your lap, you nod. A small display of compliance. A white flag you wave with great reluctance. The air knots painfully in your tender throat as you try to swallow down the nervousness.

Guzma is so close that your resolve wavers in time with the assault of fluctuating thoughts. You wish he was closer still _and_ you wish to push him away. That blasted powerlessness rips your senses to shreds, setting the voice of reason and the lustful hum of your soul to fight each other to death. You are not in control and, although neither is Guzma, he’s stronger than you.

But, for whatever reason, he doesn’t seize that opportunity. He waits. He lets you choose.

When you still remain motionless, however, that patience swerves. Sighing harshly, he leans down to ease the height difference that is most likely taking a toll on his back and a moment later he lowers himself to crouch in front of you. It almost makes you feel like a child, as if you weren’t feeling small and weak before. Your back presses against the couch. Suddenly at the same height, his gaze locks with yours, annoyed but not harsh. Not cold. A warm gust of breath washes over your face as he leans forward, smelling of sweet cocoa, and his voice caresses the shell of your ear in a broken prayer that spells your name.

“Please.”

His voice sounds strained and strikes your nerves like lightning. It clouds your concerns with an unknown sense of longing.

“Okay.”

Your hand resumes its intended path. Shaky fingers hook under the hem of your pyjama top and start lifting it, slowly. Guzma stays a spectator to your inner war, revelling in every inch of skin that is exposed to the night air with child-like wonder. Shame and excitement meet and collide, though you can’t tell if the feelings come from you, from him, or from both at the same time. In the dim light, his cheeks appear painted an alluring shade of pink that probably matches your own. Upon reaching the line of your bra, you stop. Showing more is not necessary, even if a twisted part of your mind would have guided your hand upwards still.

There it is. His name on your skin.

Guzma falls to his knees on the floor. He stares at the soulmark, just stares at it for what feels like forever. Then he raises a hand, stops, raises it again. You can tell his restraining himself from touching it. And, even though you don’t understand why, you let him do it. Subtly rough fingers brush over the letters in the softest caress, barely there. A tremor spreads along your skin with the epicentre at your chest. The hand withdraws and pauses again, but soon returns to the task of studying his brand as if needing another taste, double-check that it’s really there. He traces the ragged lines of each letter carefully, ignorant—or perhaps ever so aware—of the plethora of sensations every small stroke of his fingertips rouses within you. Sparks burst through your bloodstream, heading down, down, down.

Light-headed and short of breath, you want him to stop—and at the same time, deep inside, you want him to  _never_  stop. And you know he can feel it all: your doubts, your frustration, the two forces struggling within of you like furious serpents. His eyes resemble the mighty, darkened sky before a storm now more than ever.

Alarmed, your hand flies to his wrist. Exhaling through the nose, he leans away and looks at the mark for several more seconds, expression impossible to read.

Then, he disentangles your fierce grip on the twisted fabric and tugs your top down with a gentle pat on the back of your clenched hands before climbing to his feet. Maybe it’s the shadows the moonlight paint on his face, but for a second there his face looks softened and satisfied, _placid_ , as he shoves his hands into the immense pockets of  his jacket once again.

Mission accomplished, he moves to go and you feel the need to speak, stammering in the haste to get a word in. “T-this doesn’t change anything,”

There’s a small silence.

“Whatever.”

The frown is back in place, his expression closed.

“See ya soon, doll," he clear his throat. "Take care.”

The door slams closed, leaving you alone in the darkness, breathing heavily and feeling oddly frustrated, wondering what the hell just happened and why you even allowed it to happen. Too drowsy to discern if it was all a weird hallucination, too alert as to expect a peaceful drift into dreamland even as your head sinks into the pillow. The strain of the week wins over before you can keep demonizing yourself, lulled into a dreamless sleep by the sweet smell of cocoa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last edited on 23 August 2018.


	5. Laughter and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guzma messes with you through the bond, then you have tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning do to do afterward.”  
> Kurt Vonnegut
> 
>  
> 
> Guess what? Those capricious muses visited again. Aaaaand we are getting to the smut zone.  
> I spent all Sunday procrastinating, writing this instead of studying. NO REGRETS.
> 
> So... Funny story: I live in Madrid, and I have to walk down this street near my apartment called "Guzmán el Bueno" everyday. I can't help but laugh like an idiot everytime I read the plaque. Guzmán is the original Spanish name from which Guzma/Guzmania derived, so... I live right next to "Guzma the Good Man". I'm such a dork.
> 
> Love you all. ❤
> 
> PS. By popular demand, I'll keep using the name blanks. I don't use more than one or two per chapter, anyway, when I feel like I just need to put her name in a dialogue.

The following days go by ever so slowly inside your gilded cage. After what happened, you expected the memories of your little tête-à-tête in the moonlight with Guzma would keep you wide-awake at night with thoughts of shame and self-loathing, but your body still is tremendously weakened so you find yourself sleeping soundly until late in the mornings and taking naps in the afternoons out of sheer exhaustion. The rest of the time you read your way through the collection of awful romance novels provided by the motel, sit on the porch outside watching over your pokémon as they run around the oasis practicing their moves on each other, and watch lots of bad TV shows—although mostly you just sleep and drink lots of water.

The professor checks up on you a couple of times a day to ensure you are actually keeping your word, staying at the room he rented and taking the time your body needs to heal. Lillie and Hau also send you heartfelt ‘get well’ texts, which only makes you feel even worse about how you unnecessarily lashed out at the young girl the last time you were together. Perhaps you can offer an honest explanation of why you came to the islands of Alola in the first place and why the innocuous conversation in the library, albeit well-intentioned, had ruffled your feathers so much, as an apology. Perhaps her insight into how the whole soulmate ordeal works could help, now more than ever.

Since that night, your mark keeps doing disturbing things. It had sent traces of foreign feelings to your mind before through the invisible bond you unwillingly share with the hot-headed leader of Team Skull but, after he touched it physically, it’s like it suddenly became _alive_. There is no use in denying it—much to your displeasure, the connection is growing stronger. It was awakened the moment you recognized each other as soulmates and it has only kept garnering strength ever since. The dreaded black letters tingle, become warm or cold, and even hurt sometimes, depending on the mood Guzma is in at the time, which only makes you wonder if he’s also able to perceive how utterly miserable and helpless this makes you feel. Worst of all, the damned bond also seems to have the ability to make you ridiculously horny. And there is no subtle way to put it. The blasted thing messes with your emotions, your judgement, and now also with your hormones. Whether it’s a direct consequence of his touch on your skin, the bond calling for your mate, or just a reflect of Guzma’s own desire reaching out to you, it’s hard to tell—but it’s absolutely maddening and the sensation likes to hit you at the most inappropriate moments.

You were speaking with Kukui once, exchanging impressions on the different pokémon you had caught and encountered along the road, and suddenly heat blossomed between your thighs out of nowhere, strong and unrelenting. The sensation was so intense you had to stop mid-sentence to avoid moaning out right then and there. He saw your sweaty, reddened face through the camera and thought you had been neglecting your self-care—well, he wasn’t _entirely_ wrong, was he? It goes without saying that you ended the call right away and hurried to take a cold shower. There were no more video-conferences after that. It was embarrassing enough to lose control of your own body without witnesses and, even if he was the only person minimally aware of your personal situation, there was no way in hell you were talking about _this_ with him.

“Top of the morning to you, professor. Hey, I have a little question. Is it normal that I suffer from spontaneous episodes of arousal or is it just my stupid soulmate furiously masturbating twice a day to thoughts of how he’s ruining my life? Thank you so much for your help.”

Yeah, that could go _so_ well.

It only gets worse on the afternoon of the third day. The beeping noise of your phone receiving a new message wakes you up from the nap you had fallen into at some point while reading through the torrid affair between Mrs Shaggington and the stable boy. These cheap paperback smutty novels don’t precisely help matters right now, but there isn't an abundance of quality reading material around here. Eevee is curled in a furry ball at your feet, oblivious to the world as his soft snores fill the air. Groaning, you rub the sleep off your eyes with the back of a hand and a reach for the phone with the other, brows furrowing when you don’t recognize the contact.

**Unknown:**

_how ya doin girly ?_

What. The. Fuck.

**You:**

_Just peachy. Can’t you feel it? I certainly can feel a lot of things I wish I couldn’t._

_How did you get my number, Guzma?_

Maybe you are being a bit too harsh, but this whole situation has you pissed out of your mind.

**Unknown:**

_so angry… so cute_

_you left your phone on the table_

_what are you feelin, hm ?_

You don’t know if it's anger or mortification what surges from deep in your chest to inflame your cheeks, but you feel like screaming.

**_You:_ **

_As if you don’t know. Freaking pervert._

_Can’t you just leave me alone?_

_This is not funny._

_Just so you know—I’m not replying anymore._

Why are you even speaking with him, then again?

**Unknown:**

_not a chance in hell, princess_

_i’m sure havin lots of fun & i know you do, too_

_see ya soon ;)_

He’s so… Ugh. Infuriating.

It was far easier to ignore his existence when he was just a bodiless concept inside your head. Now that you have actually met the man in the flesh, seen him, and talked to him… you can’t push yourself to loathe him as much as you would like to. Even if he really is doing his best to push you beyond the limit. The smallest part of you finds him intriguing, funny and ruggedly handsome, and you absolutely hate it for thinking such a thing of a guy that likes going around stealing pokémon and terrorizing people. Truth is, he is much more than meets the eye—that you have already comprehended. The real problem resides in not knowing if you actually want to stick around long enough to see if what lies underneath the scary, harsh exterior is worth leaving your principles aside to listen to your soul’s desires. That you are even contemplating this possibility is what frightens you the most, to be honest.

Why would anyone think you two should be together?

 _Ridiculous_.

You turn the device to mute without wasting another second on humouring the twisted protagonist of your torment. A lengthy yawn finds its way out of your lips as you stretch your benumbed limbs above your head, hoping it’s not too late in the afternoon to do something productive. There is no way you’re staying locked in this place a minute more than strictly necessary, bored out of your mind and watching your slow descent into madness. Even if you need to set a slower pace for the team and take a few more breaks than usual along the way to reach Route 15, you have already decided you are leaving tomorrow morning. Furthermore, you should probably start thinking about completing the island’s remaining challenges and moving forward.

Groaning, you stand up, joints popping and cracking as they are called back to work, and drag your bare feet to the en-suite bathroom. You splash cold water on your face, chasing the laziness away. Even though your sleeping clothes are wrinkled and your hair is a mess after hours—more like _days_ —snoozing on the sofa, you look much better than you did three days ago. True, your skin still looks too pallid and you haven’t still gotten rid of that bothersome headache pressing on your temples, but there is a healthy semblance of recovery on your appearance and you feel confident enough to get back on the road.  _Stronger than before_ , the professor had said, right? Perhaps it’s not what he meant but your resolve is undoubtedly stronger, at the very least, and you refuse to keep living like a Snorlax stranded in this road motel forever.

“Ahh—“

It can’t be.

Holding onto the edge of the porcelain basin to withstand the sudden surge of arousal, you groan out in exasperation as the familiar warmth spreads its ghostly fingers throughout your body. Your face is flushed a bright red and your bottom lip sticking out, swollen, under the edge of your teeth when you timidly rise your half-lidded gaze and see yourself on the bathroom mirror, trembling under the traitorous wave of sensation. The letters on your ribcage start pulsing in unison to your heartbeats, an annoying itch you can’t scratch. When your thighs’ muscles twitch with a new, stronger pang of heat, you actually cry out in helplessness. Fearing your knees will give out at any second, you use your hold on the sink to clumsily guide your body down to the floor, where it instinctively curls up around itself. The tiles are mercifully cold against your heated skin.

Quiet sobs accompany the tremors as more and more tidal waves of arousal wash over your body, increasingly faster and more vivid. You press your thighs together in a stubborn, desperate movement so useless you feel like crying. The throbbing wetness between your legs demands attention— _long, rough fingers parting your slick folds and teasing your clit_ —but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. He is listening through the bond, taunting you, waiting— _you picture him alone in a shadowy room, panting, stroking his length_. If only… But you can’t. He will know if you touch yourself. And even if he doesn’t, you refuse to succumb to your basest instincts like this, brought to your knees like a puppet dancing to the strings of his own selfish desires.

Still, it feels fucking good.

 _So good_.

“… f-fuuuck…”

Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, nails digging painfully into your palms to prevent your hands from flying to the aching heat they are dying to soothe—and you really believe you’ll burst into flames if you don’t do something—you are throwing your head back in a loud gasp, the second-hand euphoria leaving you all the more frustrated and empty. Then, as abruptly as it began, it’s over.

“I’m going… to kill him…”

Once your agitated breathing calms down, you crawl back to your feet, stumbling with your own feet as you run all the way to the living room. You throw yourself over the back of the couch with a furious leap, startling poor Eevee out of his sleep. You land on the cushions with an arm outstretched towards the phone on the table, fingers flying over the screen to type a message.

**You:**

_I HATE YOU_

“I hate you so much,” you whisper to the air.

How long can you endure this nightmare before you lose your mind? … Or before you give up?

 

* * *

 

 

You rise with the sun, come morning. Thankfully, there weren’t any more surprises and nobody bothered you for the rest of the evening yesterday. Thinking ahead of time, you left everything meticulously packed and prepared last night before you headed to bed, so you take your sweet time enjoying a nice home cooked breakfast of coffee, pancakes and freshly squeezed juice—and a big bowl of high-quality pokéfood for each of your teammates. Then, after clearing the kitchen and getting dressed in a pair of comfortable shorts and a halter top, you grab your bag, give the room key back to the elderly lady behind the reception desk and bid farewell to the oasis once and for all. It feels like you have been here for an eternity.

The soft crunching of the soil under your boots is like music to your ears. Being out in nature like this, free to roam wherever you want, is one of the best feelings in the world. Eager for some action, Arcanine and Eevee set a steady rhythm, running a bit ahead on the dirt path and venturing into the patches of tall grass to fight wild pokémon; Toucannon flies in circles on the bright blue sky, never getting too far from the group, and a more laidback Raichu stays by your side, hovering on its tail a couple of feet above the ground and twirling around on the air to make you laugh. As the sand and rocky walls eventually give way to green grass and fresh air that smells of dew, the ruins of what once was Tapu Village become visible amidst the morning fog. Legend says the guardian spirit of the island destroyed the place a long time ago, angered by the actions of the humans that built on sacred land. Nature has healed since then, and only the sad remnants of the town remain as testimony of Tapu Bulu’s wrath.

The immense power of these so-called legendary creatures results hard to assimilate sometimes. They are pokémon, still, but with such capacity of destruction—and creation—that a large group of people consider them authentic gods. It was a common debate back at home; your father, always the science man, arguing with your mother, who truly believed it had been Arceus and the creation trio composed by Dialga, Palkia and Giratina which had given shape to the universe. Depending on the day and the arguments provided by each of them, you would took one side or the other. Science was reliable; it could explain virtually every phenomena in the world, and tried to; yet it was absurd to ignore these pokémon existed and  _had_  existed for thousands of years. They were capable of unconceivable things and had been involved in numerous incidents throughout the different regions, the most recent taken place only a couple of years ago in Kalos.

Walking among these ruins, you can’t help feeling too small and meaningless. However, you know this sudden contemplation of mythology has little to do with the sad fate of this unknown village. Given everything that has happened over the last week, you had pushed your unexpected encounter with Gladion to the back of your mind.

He had accosted you on the road that trailed up the mountain the very day that preceded your reckless incursion into Haina Desert. The peculiar boy wasn’t nearly as mysterious as he pretended—and would like—to be. From your strange, scarce encounters, you gathered he must be working for Team Skull but, apparently, doesn’t consider himself an actual member of the gang. He also knows much more than he lets on and has a tendency to be enigmatic even with the most important and potentially dangerous topics that results downright bothersome. And he is  _definitely_  related to Lillie in some manner. That blonde hair, those green eyes… the resemblance between them is uncanny and, if you held any suspicions before, after hearing his plead to defend the young girl from trouble the answer is quite clear now.

“You have to protect Cosmog at all costs!” he had said.

The urgency behind those foreboding words still echo against the walls of your mind.

Cosmog… Sweet, playful  _Nebby_ … is no ordinary pokémon. If Gladion was telling the truth, beneath those big sparkly eyes and its adorable demeanour, the small nebula has the potential to call forth one of those deity-like pokémon with unfathomable power. It makes sense, if you recall Lillie’s intent on studying the myths of old. Especially that book,  _The Light of Alola_. You remember a notably solemn passage that spoke of “the beast who devours heaven’s light”, “the beast who brings the dark” and “the beast who shone like the sun”, depending on the chosen interpretation of the ancient writings, who reached your world through a hole in the sky that would tore the firmament asunder. There were two different versions, one referring to a creature of the night and another to a creature powered by daylight, though it did not change the chilling, sour aftertaste of the legend.

Strong pokémon always attract deranged minds seeking to take advantage of said power. It has happened time after time, and it always ends badly. The knowledge that Team Skull has repeatedly attempted to steal Nebby right under your nose suddenly acquires an entirely new magnitude. But, what could those poor fools do with a legendary pokémon in their hands? There is something definitely amiss in that image, a piece you cannot visualize on the chessboard  _just yet_ , and such uncertainty makes you extremely nervous.

And Guzma… Your left hand moves to your chest out of instinct, pressing over the mark, feeling the letters pulsing softly in response. Now that you were starting to see him in a different light—not as the ruthless leader of a criminal group, but as a complicated human being with insecurities and an annoying but somewhat endearing personality—, you find yourself back in square one wondering if he has the capacity to truly be  _evil_.

A sigh escapes your throat, long and sorrowful, to join the mist in a small cloud of vapour. Only time will tell.

 

* * *

 

“We were so worried!” Lillie cries against your chest, sniffing, with fat tears rolling down her reddened cheeks. “The professor called and said that you… Please, don’t do something like that ever again!”

“I won’t,” you promise in a soft voice, stroking her long blond hair soothingly and remembering with melancholy when your mother used to did the same to calm you down when you were younger and too frightened to sleep in dark, stormy nights. It warms your heart. The wonderful people you have met here have also become part of your private family, haven’t they? You were alone when you came to Alola, but you can hardly think of yourself as solitary anymore.

The moment you stepped into Aether House, you were abruptly tackled to the ground by a screaming blonde blur. Your heads banged together on accident in the flurry of movement, and your immediate reaction was to start laughing hysterically, unable to stop as Lillie also bawled out of control, partly because she was glad to see you safe and sound and partly because the bump hurt like hell. At some point you started crying as well, hugging her back and apologizing for… well, for everything.

“I fo-o-orgive yoo-u-uu," she wailed, and you both laughed and cried for a bit longer, sprawled on the tiled floor of the vestibule without a care in the world.

“Uh, girls… I think maybe you should follow me to the staff room. It’s much more comfortable to cry there,” a soft, amused voice said above both your heads. Standing out among the uniformed scientists in white that came and went through different doors like busy ants, there was an odd-looking purple-haired girl bright blue-grey eyes and a raggedy dress, smiling down at you. You have a feeling this must be the ghost-type captain everyone has told you about. “Or you can stay there and I’ll bring snacks. Sitting on the floor is fun, too!”

Lillie hasn’t separated from you ever since, clinging to your shirt like a needy Komala as if she feared you would disappear in a cloud of smoke the moment she breaks the embrace. Not that you are complaining, but the constriction makes it kind of difficult to drink your tea. Should you tell her about Gladion? Hmmm. Maybe later.

You heard about the Aether Foundation in passing even in Kanto, about their noble aim to protect pokémon and how they had built an artificial paradise in the middle of the ocean for all the hurt creatures that need their help, before actually being invited to their impressive headquarters and meeting their president a month or so ago. This building, however, also houses orphaned children. There’s a couple of siblings in particular who like to run around with their Yungoos pretending to be vigilantes fighting for the peace of the refuge—they have already challenged you to a pokémon battle at least three times, so you ended up leaving Eevee and Nebby with them in the playroom to keep them distracted for a little while. Acerola—who actually is the last captain of Ula'Ula Island, aside from the kahuna—often takes care of the twins whenever she’s not busy with her captain responsibilities, she explains, knowing they don’t get along with most of the other orphans and the foundation employees can’t offer them the attention and regard they crave.

“I lost my mother very young and I’m aware I would have grown up in a place like this were not for my father. I still spent a lot of time by myself as a child, anyway, so I understand how they feel,” she tells you both, blowing the steam off her teacup before taking a sip. The small smile on her face never disappears, despite the sad nature of her words. “I guess I can’t help but see those little devils like my own sister and brother. We have lots of fun together.”

“That’s really nice of you,” you say.

“Oh, Acerola is  _super_  nice,” Lillie immediately agrees, moving her beaming face up and down. It seems she has finally decided to loosen her hold on your middle, choosing to cling only onto one of your arms instead. She and Hau remind you so much of Arcanine sometimes, right after you captured him as a Growlithe, a young puppy so full of life. Unable to stop yourself, you pat her head affectionately. “She let me stay here and all so that I didn't have to pay for lodging.”

“’Twas no big deal, deary. You can also sleep here tonight if you want, (y/n). There’s plenty of room for everyone!”

“Yay, we can have a sleepover!” Lillie squeals, excited.

You offer Acerola a genuine, grateful smile and laugh softly at Lillie’s enthusiasm. The captains you have encountered until now have been nothing short of helpful and cordial but you think you like the friendly purple-haired girl the most out of them all. It feels wonderful to spend some leisure time in the company of other women, just talking and laughing, even if Lillie is eleven years old and you are not entirely sure about the young captain's own age. She looks mature enough, truth be told, but her infectious joviality makes it difficult to tell. Be that as it may, you plan on enjoying these rare moment of tranquillity while you can.

“I’ve been waiting forever for you to come challenge my trial, by the way! Got my pokémon all eager for some nice diversion,” the captain quips, cocking her head to the side. "Everyone's told me you are mighty strong."

“Oh, sorry. Some… things…,” you awkwardly stutter, feeling bashful all of a sudden. Bright grey eyes flash in your mind and your heart skips a beat, still feeling the remnants of yesterday's maddening stunt pulsing between your legs. Oh, how you hate that stupid numskull. “ _Someone_ … got in the way and I got delayed. But I’ve been training, too. My team is ready, whenever you are.”

“Whaaaaat? I don’t care anymore, the stupid trial can wait! Tell us more about this  _someone_.”

“Only if you want to,” Lillie adds, timidly, but you see her eyes shining bright with thinly-veiled curiosity.

Heaving a sigh, you bury the bottom half of your burning face in your hands and gather courage to face the most awkward conversation of your entire life. “It’s okay," you mumble. "I actually think I could use your, uh, help. Knowledge. Whatever. Just... how much do you know about soul bonds?”


	6. Against the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You pass another trial. You meet someone new. You are... seriously getting tired of this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You throw the sand against the wind;  
> And the wind blows it back again."  
> Mock on, Mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau, by William Blake
> 
>  
> 
> So... I can't really feel my brain at the moment. I'm basically living on caffeine these days, and I've spent all day reading essays on Modernist literature. Thursday I have my first exam. (Kill me now, pls.)  
> I also have to keep looking gameplays up because I finished the game a while ago and don't remember all the details. Although, in case you didn't notice, I don't like describing events that already happen in-game that much, haha.  
> But I keep having all these ideas, and I already have several more chapters planned. Every small break from studying I've had, I've tried to write. I wanted to finish and update this today because I may disappear for a couple of weeks.  
> I'm afraid this chapter is not as good as it could have been but I really can't do better right now. Sorry.
> 
> See ya soon (hopefully)! :)

After staying most of the night up chatting with the girls, it’s already mid-afternoon of the following day when you accompany Acerola down to Route 14 to—finally—take on her trial. Eluding your responsibilities could only last for so long, yet you wish there was nothing in your agenda for once. Concerning today’s schedule, you are mildly worried about the challenge, knowing there is no one in your current team with a significant advantage over ghost-types. Still, you will manage one way or another. Besides, the guidelines of each trial are as unpredictable as they come and, considering the eccentricity inherent to your newest friend, perhaps even more than usual this time.

Drowsiness still weighs heavy on your minds as you stroll down the dirt path together, so you didn’t really anticipate the bad weather until it’s too late. Almost as soon as you reach the ruins of Tapu Village, the skies roar with thunder and it starts raining. Far from making a drama out of the inconvenience, you both break into a laugh. She grabs your hand and drags you down the muddy slope that leads to the beach below, running under the broken, caved-in pieces of road that litter the forlorn area and zigzagging between the concrete columns to avoid the full force of the drizzle. The raindrops fall light and meek but quickly drench your clothes in mere seconds. Guess your plans of having a picnic by the shore later are now ruined. Well, it doesn’t really matter, the chilliness and the small rush of adrenaline that rushes through your body each time your boots hit the black sand making you feel alive.

Not that it’s hard to notice, but you have been in a great mood since leaving the motel behind yesterday, and even more so when you woke up this morning, feeling oddly but pleasantly light-hearted. Confessing everything to your friends did wonders. Telling the full story of your predicament has, quite literally, taken a load off your mind—the pressure your family had bestowed upon you since childhood over the whole soulmate ordeal, running away from Kanto, finding out about Guzma that day at Malie Garden, almost getting yourself killed in your foolish attempt to avoid him; the conflicting feelings that threaten to tear you apart from inside, the fear, the confusion, the excitement… Those are all still there, but at least you aren’t the only one carrying the burden anymore. If only you didn’t have the nagging presentiment that this odd moment of happiness won’t last long.

They listened patiently and offered as much assistance as they could, taking into consideration neither of them is an expert on the topic. Lillie lent you the infamous book you had nearly thrown to her head that day at the library. Even though it was rather late when you dissolved the so-called sleepover, you still stayed awake a couple of hours more, reading and growing frustrated. Apparently, there isn’t much you can do to prevent the bond from affecting you beyond training your mental strength to _maybe_ weaken the intensity of the emotions it passes onto you. Which is a real bummer. But that isn’t even the worst part. There is a whole chapter about the side-effects of ignoring the bond—from experiencing an incontrollable and increasing yearning for your significant other, which is already happening, going through a number of various afflictions, to grave medical conditions that can go as far as falling into a comma if the bond is strained too far. It’s not something that occurs often enough as to actually result worrying, but it sounds horrifying nonetheless. Breaking a soul bond is serious business—nearly taboo, and considered a crime against nature by many—, that much everyone knows, but hearing you can pretty much die just by trying to do what you want with your own romantic life… You are really, _really_ trying to be optimistic but it feels as if the universe is laughing at you more and more every passing day.

Anyway, let’s deal with one thing at a time.

As you ascend the mossy flight of steps that leads to the front of the abandoned Thrifty Megamart, you notice there is someone already waiting by the door. Green hoodie drawn over his head, there is young man sitting on the ground, in the small dry spot beneath the building’s roof. He is throwing pokébeans to some wild Murkrows which must have also thought that would be a good shelter from the rain, and only looks up when the birds caw agitatedly to announce your presence.

“Oh, looky there, a stranger!” Acerola exclaims, rather dramatically, pointing to the guy. “Another challenger?”

“What? Huh, yeah, that I am! Sorry, you startled me.” He jumps to his feet, startling the Murkrows further away, and retires the hood of his jacket to greet you. The upper layers of his dark brown hair are tied back, the rest brushing his shoulders in gentle waves. Warm dark green eyes and a bright, pearly smile stand out in a pleasant, caramel-skinned face. He must be around your age, give or take a year. The mysterious guy holds out a hand for the purple-haired girl to shake, which she does in an overly excited manner. “Woah, yeah, nice to meet you. I’m Caleb. Hope you don’t mind me coming here without notice and all. I called and they assured me the captain would come by this afternoon with another challenger, so… Oh, of course, hello there to you, too,” he offers the same hand to you, having relegated your presence to the background as he spoke to Acerola. His hand nearly swallows yours. He is tall and strong, but—you cannot help but notice—not as much as Guzma. And, yes, that thought was completely unnecessary but crosses your mind like a shooting star nevertheless. “Hey, haven’t we… met before?”

“Uh?” you frown, momentarily confused. “I don’t think so.”

“Nuh-uh, I’m one hundred percent sure I’ve seen you somewhere,” he trails off, tapping his chin with a finger, and then, suddenly, gasps loudly as his eyes widen comically in realization. “That’s it—you are the girl from the desert! I found you lost out there. Unconscious. Called the rangers. I must say, you look a lot different without all that sand on you.”

The magnitude of this revelation hits you like a truck, and you gape at him. “… It was _you_? You found me?”

“Yep, that was me and my guys. I’m sorry we couldn’t stick around until you recovered but I’m glad to see you’re fine.”

“Holy shit—I owe you my life! They only mentioned the rangers, so I thought… It was Caleb, right? I don’t know how to thank you. I’ll make sure I make it up to you somehow.”

Maybe then you will finally be able to put that mortifying episode of your life behind you once and for all.

“Hey, calm down,” he laughs softly. His voice is warm and pleasant, like seemingly everything else about him. “Really, it was no big deal. Anyone would have done the same. I’m just happy that everything turned out alright.”

Acerola jumps between the two of you, splashing a bit of water from the quickly growing puddles over your bare legs, and places her hands on her hips. “Oookay, guys. I’m enjoying all these mushy feelings on the air and all, honestly, but it got boring like five minutes ago. So… who wants to go first?”

“Heh, right. Sorry”, he mutters. “By all means, go on. Ladies first.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being chivalrous or deep down you’re too coward to take the first turn, but I’ll accept your generous offer”, you comply, rummaging through your bag for the flashlight you had been farsighted enough to pack. “See you guys in a bit.”

 

* * *

 

By the time you emerge from the sinister depths of the supermarket, victorious but covered in an ashen layer of dust from head to toe, it has stopped raining. The last rays of sunlight glisten a molten golden from behind the dark shreds of clouds which seem to be moving swiftly towards the North. Acerola and the newcomer have relocated further away from the doors to sit on a fallen tree that appears to have stayed miraculously dry by the action of the foliage above. They stop mid-conversation to greet you back. There is a Midday form Lycanroc laying on the concrete floor next to Caleb, playfully snapping its jaws to shoo the group of wild Murkrows away. You assume the beautiful wolf pokémon must be part of his team.

“There you are!” Acerola trots to meet you at the entrance of the building. “Jeez, I was starting to think you had liked my hideout so much as to stay and live in there. How did it go? Welp, I already know you defeated the totem and all, my lil’ friends told me as soon as you left the backroom, but… did you find it _scary_?” Her blue-grey eyes shine expectantly, awaiting an answer.

“Absolutely terrifying,” you reply with a small smile, patting your clothes to shake off the dirt that has adhered to the fabric. The annoying particles flutter around both your heads, prickling your nose. It makes you sneeze, twice. Fighting off a third one by blocking your airways with the back of a hand, you turn to Caleb and motion toward the door. “Well? What’s stopping you? It’s your turn.” You throw your flashlight at him. “Beware of the dust bunnies.”

"Thanks for the heads up,” he chuckles holding the door of the Megamart opening for his Lycanroc. “See ya.”

The sea breeze blows throughout the bay, making you shiver. Your clothes are more dirty than damp by now, but the cold lingers on your skin. You drop down on the fallen log, heaving a weary sigh. More particles of dust go flying everywhere with the movement—you hope they are the last ones.

Acerola sits down as well. “What was all that, _hm_?”

“What was… what?”

She clears her throat, loudly, and proceeds to make a poor impersonation of your voice, placing her hands over her heart for further effect. “Oooh, Caleb, you are so handsome and strong. You are my knight in shining armour! Save me from the mighty dust bunnies! _That._ ”

You choke on air, flabbergasted. “W-What the hell? It wasn’t anything like that! And I don’t sound so… so…”

“Flirty?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t flirting! It was surprising he happened to be the one who saved me and I’m grateful, that’s all,” you explain under her critical gaze. “ _Okay_. He is absurdly good-looking and nice, but, believe me, flirting with anyone is the last thing on my mind at the moment. I’ve got enough on my plate already. No—I’ve got a freaking unsolicited _soulmate_ to worry about, in case you forgot. I don’t need more stress _or_ men in my life, thank you very much.”

“Uh-huh… Naw, I believe you. Teasing you is just too fun, hon.”

You roll your eyes, and move your bag from the ground to your lap so that it doesn’t get wet. Something stirs inside and you remember all of a sudden. “Oh, right! How could I forget?” You reach for the zipper and something emerges from within even before you can drag it open all the way. A small, stuffed head of a faded yellow shade with a crudely painted face that seems to represent a Pikachu. “So… this happened. I didn’t plan on capturing anything in there, but this little fella followed me on my way out.”

“Aww, Mimikyu, you made a friend?” Acerola proceeds to crouch down in front of you and takes the small creature all the way out of the bag, careful not to mess up the tail of its disguise—a wooden piece attached to the fabric so that it stands upright. The ghost pokémon hums happily from under the cloth. “She’s one of my youngest, a nervous little thing. It’s funny, really. She must have liked you a lot because usually she just runs to hide from the trainers.”

“Really? She looked pretty brave to me. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

“I know you will, darling. And I know she will surely take care of you as well. Mimikyus are very good judges of character, you know? They’re usually too insecure to present themselves to just any person, more so if they sense they are bad news.”

“Hmmm. I should feel flattered, in that case,” you affectionately caress the side of Mimikyu with the back of a finger and she emits a sound akin to a purr. “I may have to log into a PC soon and consider a change of strategy for my team, though. Eevee is taking longer than I expected to evolve, and I don’t even know which evolution suits him better—if I even get to choose before it just… happens. And there are many Pokémon in the box I haven’t really had the chance to train. The end of the island challenge seems awfully close right now and there’s just _so much_ in my mind it’s overwhelming.”

“You can take all the time you need, sweety. All work and no fun will make you go crazy!”

Your lips tilt upwards in the semblance of a smile, leaning back on your hands to look at the pastel glimpses of the sunset visible through the canopies of the trees.

If only you weren't half-certain that you are already going mad.

 

* * *

 

Caleb ends up leaving as soon as you both are done with the ghost-type trial and Acerola teaches you how to activate the Ghostium Z in battle, claiming he has somewhere else to be. It kind of seems a petty excuse to disappear, but he sounds genuinely apologetic. He makes sure to exchange phone numbers in case you feel like _compensating him_ sometime over a nice dinner and you pretend not to notice all the double meanings. You don’t know what to make of him as of yet, to be honest. Even though you aren't opposed to the idea of getting to know him, apprehension gnaws at your insides at the multiple possible interpretations of his invitation. Your purple-haired friend barely camouflages her snickering as the guy bids you goodbye, then spends the whole trip back to Route 15 making fun of the frown that has lodged itself on your face. And there goes your good mood. Maybe you were wrong—maybe he _was_ flirting with you, after all, even if it was all just playful banter with a fellow Pokémon trainer on your side. Or maybe, just maybe, he happens to be the nicest guy in the world and doesn’t have any ulterior motivations beyond becoming a potential friend, you tell yourself.

Who knows.

Who cares.

Your disordered thoughts are interrupted, though, by an alarmed scream cutting through the air. You have already started running when Acerola asserts the commotion comes from Aether House, looking more worried than you have ever seen her before.

“What’s going on here?”

The scene that welcomes you back is not one you are mentally prepared for at the moment. All you can see are those familiar black and white uniforms with the mocking, mismatching skull sockets. The stairs that lead to the building are crowded with a handful of Team Skull grunts and their growling Pokémon and, in front of them, a tanned woman with long pink and blond pigtails you have seen once before. The second-in-command within the gang, Plumeria.

The orphaned twins are also there, the little girl weeping inconsolably on the ground, with Hau and his Incineroar standing protectively between them as some sort of shield. Just from one look you can tell the huge feline pokémon is not in prime shape, though, so there must have already been some fighting involved.

“Ugh, for fuck’s sake, _not you again_!” you groan.

“Thank the Tapus, you’re back!” cries Hau, visibly relieved. “Lillie told me you were here, so I came, and then these guys appeared out of nowhere. They have…”

“They’ve taken Yungoos!” intercedes the young boy, tears and snot running down his plump reddened face in a pitiful sight. “Please, miss, take Yungoos back!”

“Really?” you cannot believe it. “Now you go around stealing from _children_? That’s stooping to a whole new level of low.”

“Tsk. They just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time. It doesn’t make much of a difference for my boys. But I was looking for _you_ , actually,” says Plumeria, sounding almost as annoyed as yourself. She takes a couple of steps forward, arms crossed threateningly. She looks down at you with so much contempt, the white eyeshadow and bold black eyeliner only accentuating the sharpness of her amber eyes, it’s somewhat unsettling. Nonetheless, you stand your ground, sheer frustration rooting you in place. Honestly, you are too fed up with their nonsense, with everyone’s nonsense, and with everyone in general at the moment. Their stupid leader already haunts your every thought, every second of every waking hour. Can’t they just leave you alone? “I had the strangest feeling when we met, you know? I sensed you were trouble. First, you go picking on my little brothers and sisters, and now _this_? It sounded so silly when he told me, I couldn’t believe it. So bothersome. Just… look at _you_.”

“Look at _me_? Have you seen a mirror lately?”

“That’s kinda what I mean. You two are ridiculously different. Not meant for each other at all.”

“So… you know?”

“Of course I know, he told me,” she sighs. “Everything. And I refuse to step aside and simply watch how you, too, mess with his mind.”

“ _What_? In any case, it’s _him_ who is messing with _me_!”

“Whatever floats your boat, girl," she sighs. "It doesn't really change what I'm saying. Let's get one thing straight real quick—don’t hurt my family. It's not like I can change the laws of nature but I can damn try to put you in your place. So... show me you’re worth something.”

She throws two pokéballs to the air, calling her team out, and the threat finally makes your patience snap.

"You know what? Alright, I'll give you blood if that's what you want. But then you'll leave us the fuck alone."

You are too tired—physically, emotionally—to keep playing this game. There was only Guzma and you, at first, staring at each other across a black and white chessboard, and it was complicated enough without any external factors, but now that you look closely there are too many pieces in place on both sides. And they keep pushing you in all directions.

If a battle is what she wants, she will have one. You chose your own fighters. Arcanine fuels on your burning anger, following your commands and taking her Golbat down in just a couple of turns. Next comes her Salazzle, which is a little trickier and harder to beat, requiring some assistance from Primarina, but in no time your team wins that round as well. For one fleeting second, a peeved grimace twists Plumeria’s normally stoic features as she calls her Pokémon back. You don’t do the same, warily eyeing the scowling grunts glaring daggers at you from behind their so-called big sister. Their superior appeases their animosity with a raised hand, all the while intently looking at you, as if trying to see past yourself, into your head—into your soul. Those amber eyes of hers hold your incensed gaze for what seems like forever, and then her frown softens ever so slightly, as if defeated. “Seeing you fight, I kind of get it, why he’s so… smitten. That doesn't mean I changed my mind. I still don't like this one bit. He’s too blinded to see the truth, but I do. This thing that has been set into motion between the two of you? It cannot end well. Someone is going to get hurt, inevitably, and it won’t be him—not if I can help it. Do you understand?”

“I do. I fucking know. Seriously, I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m enjoying this stupid situation. I don’t. I hate it’s happening like this, that it's happening now... and with him. I absolutely hate that I can do nothing to change it. To control it, even,” your throat burns with how much you are screaming. Tears prickle the corner of your eyes with all the pent-up emotions struggling to be released. Your chest hurts and you can’t even tell if it’s because of the exertion or because of Guzma. “I didn’t chose this. Or him. So go shove your threats where the sun doesn’t shine and give those children their pokémon back right this instant! _Now_.”

The corner of her mouth twitches as you scream, but she doesn’t interrupt you. Only when you are done does she move, starting to walk away. "I’m done here.” The grunts hurry to follow her. “But I'm afraid the stolen Pokémon should already be at our hideout. You'll have to go there if you want them back. And I'd suggest you go alone to avoid further complications."

Your whole body shakes in time with the deep, exasperated sigh that escapes your lips. “ _Where_?”

“Po Town. Just go North and you’ll find it,” Plumeria yells over her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't really used tumblr in a while, but I created a new blog in case you'd like to ask or tell me something outside of the comments' section. I don't usually reply to anything here (even though I read everything and appreciate every single comment you leave me ♥), because the numbers go crazy and I feel it's dishonest - since half the comments in the meter would be mine.  
> If you're interested, here you go: https://fightingmonsterswithwords.tumblr.com/


	7. A Little Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you take a stroll in the rain - with sexy results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth  
> Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt  
> Still a little hard to say what's going on
> 
> Still a little bit of your ghost your witness  
> Still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed  
> You step a little closer each day  
> So I can say what's going on.”  
> Cannonball, by Damien Rice
> 
>  
> 
> It happened. Our stubborn girl has jumped from denial into acceptance. Yay. (?)  
> I know the timing feels a bit hasty buy it did make sense in my head.  
> I just keep coming back to writing this to escape a bit from all the studying (because I secretly want to fail my exams or something), but I dread the possible bad quality of these chapters due to my mental exhaustion.
> 
> All aboard the fluff train!  
> Next stop: Smutville. Population: you.  
> (Don't get your hopes up, there's plenty of angst around the corner. Sorry.)

You travel fast, but the storm gets there first.

Nature seems to match the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you, the night sky a pitch black void discharging its fury over the Northern part of the island. There is no comparison between this downpour and the soft drizzle that fell on the beach earlier in the day. Freezing pellets of water hit the exposed skin of your arms and legs like ruthless needles and the howling wind pushes, pushes against you with all its might, every step forward a strenuous task.

Plumeria said they would be expecting your arrival but there is absolutely no one there, not that you can blame them for running off for shelter. You stand in front of the gates of Po Town shivering, drenched and miserable, wondering how you are going to get inside, when an older man appears out of nowhere amidst the deluge. He saunters in flip-flops under the pouring rain as if the nasty weather has got nothing on him, facial expression impassive but somehow menacing—maybe it’s those disturbing dark red eyes, clashing in contrast with his thinning silver hair. There is some kind of golden distinctive perched on the short sleeve of his jacket and you remember the police station you passed earlier, packed with Meowths to the brim.

 “Are you lost, girl? That’s not a playground you just want to step in lightly. Or maybe you’ve come to join their merry band?”

The paternalistic tone there ticks you the wrong way, especially because it’s been a while since you ran out of patience to deal with… anyone, to be honest. You shake your head, teeth chattering. “N-no. Those morons t-took something and I’ve c-come to retrieve it. C-can you open the damn g-gates before I freeze out here?”

“I _can_ ,” he huffs. “It doesn’t mean I _will_. Not for every kid that comes by trying to play hero.”

 _Maybe if the authorities did their work for once_!, you are tempted to scream in his face.

“L-look, old man,” you retort, exasperated. “I’ve had a p-pretty long day and I’m g-gonna go from vengeful heroine to fire-spitting dragon in this stupid fairytale if you don’t let me in right now. T-Their stupid leader is m-my soulmate. I’ll be fine. Open the damn gates!”

He eyes you oddly for several seconds, your angry and determined expression. Then he exhales and shakes his head in exasperation, moving to extract a bunch of keys out of his pocket.

“Good luck.”

The gates close with a heavy _boom_ behind you. The noise sends an ill-omened tremor down your spine as it echoes in the darkness; you are locked in a spooky, fortified town with a violent gang of rebellious teenagers. Just your average Saturday night.

The few streetlights that are not broken shed eerie circles of light along the main street, the rest engulfed in an impenetrable ocean of shadows. Every few minutes, serpents of lightning flash above, allowing a fleeting glimpse of what should have been—but never was—a thriving bourgeois neighbourhood. Tapu Bulu's wrath extended even to this remote corner of the island and the residential area was never occupied, to begin with, cursed by an almost perpetual violent storm. The houses painted a perfect white with perfect red-tiled roofs, never used before being abandoned and then vandalized. Something tells you these misfits seized the opportunity to occupy the ghost town when it presented itself before the government had the chance to discuss what to do with it. What’s more, that policeman out there probably allows them to stay. He has keys, he lives right next to them, and he has done nothing to throw them out?

Deep down, you understand. They needed a place to call home, so they took one for themselves. No matter how much you try to and how much trouble they cause, you really can’t convince yourself to fully despise the lovable, wretched band of walking disasters.

The very first thing that welcomes you to Po Town, officially, is a vandalized sign claiming this territory as the headquarters of Team Skull. From that point onwards, there are colourful graffiti everywhere—on the pavement, on the abandoned vehicles that litter the road, all over the houses and even on the untrimmed hedges that divide the gardens. Diluted blue, purple and pink paint swirl almost beautifully on the puddles and rivulets forming on the cobblestone. At the end of the road, the monstrous shadow of a manor looms presiding the town, its lit windows shining like malicious eyes in the dark. There is a tug deep in your chest that confirms that is where you are headed.

You reach inside your bag, intending to call Raichu out to help illuminate the treacherous way, before realizing his electric attacks will do more wrong than good in this dreadful weather. It seems it’s your flashlight and you against the world… but of course it ran out of batteries after the trial this afternoon. _Great_.

The further you walk into the area, the more everything looks as if a tornado has passed through the place. Broken windows, garbage, and… they seem to have used most of the furniture they found inside the houses to erect a series of barricades in the main road, most likely to dissuade meddlesome outsiders like yourself in case the huge walls and blocked gates weren’t enough. There are chairs, tables, cupboards and the occasional piano piled on top of each other without rhyme or reason. The barriers are tall, lumpy—and impossible to climb, as you find out after failing to do so, tumbling to the ground in a heap when your boots slip on the damp wood.

This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? You rub your sore arse and break into a peal of laughter, finding the whole situation hilarious for some reason. The sky cracks with thunder, accompanying your mirth.

When the laughter dies on your lips, you feel strangely devoid of energy. Every thought takes too much effort to form in your muddled head. The exhaustion of not only the day, but the week, maybe even the entire month, presses down on your mind. The cold, the weakness. The nurse had told you to rest and take it easy after the mishap in the desert, and what are you doing? Running around hunting little punks down and probably catching hypothermia. Honestly, your life makes no sense at all, right now. You only want to get done with this and go to sleep, maybe never getting up again. For an instant, you realize you don’t even know what “this” means in that sentence—the rescuing mission or the whole island challenge. You pettily complained to Acerola about feeling overwhelmed but it goes deeper than that. It doesn’t even have to do with the whole soulmate ordeal anymore, at least not completely. The fatigue had begun before meeting Guzma, and it wasn’t his fault that it kept growing, spreading its tendrils and feasting on your vitality.

It’s not _him_ , exactly, it’s… _everyone_.

Everyone expecting such great things of you all the time, expecting you to save the day time and time again, expecting you to surpass every trainer in the region and become a champion. What is it that keeps you going? You started crumbling under the pressure long ago and the finish line isn’t even in sight.

But this is probably not the time nor the place to have an existential crisis, and you are half-convinced it’s the impending fever twisting the voice of your conscience. The longer you stand in the rain, the colder it gets and the worse you feel.

Your vision becomes hazy for a moment. Blinking repeatedly until it clears again, you try to focus on the lights on the mansion ahead. You dig your fingers in the mark on your ribcage, the pang of pain, like fire, urging you onwards.

Letting that invisible thread lead you through the angry rainstorm, you find yourself digging in the mud with numb fingers and crawling beneath thorny hedgerows, hauling yourself over the rusty hood of an abandoned delivery van with no tires, and breaking the window of a house with the heel of your boot to go through its mouldy-smelling living room into the garden of the house next door.

Calling forth your remaining strength, you jump over the last, smaller wall of chairs and fall sprawled on the cobblestone in front of the manor. There’s a pair of grunts squatting Team Skull-style at each side of front door, guarding the entrance, who jump startled by your sudden appearance—pallid, with bloody scratches and mud all over your clothes. “Oh, shit, man, we built all these barricades for nothing? What do we do now?”

You snort, blue-tinted lips quivering into a half-smile. “Sing the song of angry men."

"... Why would we do that?" asks the left grunt.

“Hey, wait, I know this chick,” the other grunt says, climbing to his feet. “We have to bring her to the boss right away.”

“But he is…”

“They said _right away_! And I already was scolded by the admin yesterday.”

“You shouldn’t have eaten all the chocolate cereal, bro."

"I was hungry!" protest the right grunt.

"Well, now _you_ have to take her to the boss. I’ll guard the door.”

"That's not fair," he groans, standing up.

You wince at the roughness of his grip on your arm as he helps you stand up and shoves you forward.

“No offense, girl, but you look terrible.”

“Gee, t-thanks. I was going for the swamp monster look.”

The inside of the derelict manor is almost as miserably cold as the outside, but at least it’s not raining—for the most part. The fancy purple wallpaper and burgundy carpet are ruined with water stains and yet more abstract works of graffiti praising the greatness of Team Skull. Expensive-looking furniture has been thrown unceremoniously against the walls; there are tons of scattered beds in the hallways, some occupied by sleeping people and some empty; extravagant porcelain vases all over the ground like they have absolutely no value; and empty bottles, food cans and cardboard boxes everywhere. A broken chain dangles from the high ceiling, the majestic chandelier blocking one side of the staircase where it must have crashed, beautiful crystal droplets scattered all over the steps like morning dew.

The blue-haired grunt drags you to the upper floor through the left staircase, cleared of obstacles. The occasional bystander enquires about your presence in their not-so-secret base and he always answers you are “boss’ business”. _Yes, you are_. The mark tingles mockingly. You come across an interesting variety of scenes—a couple engaged in a steamy make-out session in open view, a guy passed-out drunk in a randomly placed sofa, and a decent-sized group of grunts sitting in the middle of a corridor, drinking beer and playing poker. Every room you pass, has beds, which makes you think of their alarming numbers. Do they just keep picking more and more runaway teenagers from the streets?

“Keep walking, yo.”

You are pushed through yet another door and suddenly freezing, heavy rain pours down on you again from the black skies. A rumble of thunder shakes the air. It feels even colder than before, added to the water already saturating your clothes and pooling inside your boots, so much you wouldn’t be standing if this guy wasn’t gripping your arm so vehemently. The wooden planks wobble precariously under your combined weight. The absurdly planned footbridge goes across the roof and leads to what you can only assume is the hallway blocked by the chandelier—through a freaking hole in the wall. These guys and their dramatism are going to be the end of you.

The last hallway looks private, so you suspect what you will find even before the grunt knocks on a door, almost nervously. An angry voice responds something too vulgar for your lethargic brain to process, then footsteps. The door opens, and suddenly there’s a shirtless Guzma standing in the threshold, black pyjama pants hanging low on his hips, barefoot and looking very much pissed-off. His grey eyes widen at the tragic sight of you.

“What the fuck?”

 

* * *

 

You stand shivering in the middle of the messy throne room with your arms wrapped around yourself in a vain attempt to get warmer. Part of you feels like you are not there at all, looking around through hazy eyes and vaguely taking in the small details of Guzma’s private bedroom—the makeshift throne, the undone king-sized bed pushed against a corner, the half-opened chest brimming with what looks like green Z-crystals, the shocking amount of empty liquor bottles lying around—while he runs around like a headless Torchic, muttering an imaginative string of profanities that would put even the most seasoned sailor to shame. He looks almost comically panicked but it doesn’t amuse you at all, quite the contrary.

You don't feel like laughing at all.

You're weak and tired, and even slightly scared. About the situation and about the conflicting emotions bubbling in your chest. Push and pull. The bond pushing you towards him and your own pride, your fear, pulling you away.

In hindsight, it cannot have been more than five days since you saw him last, and three at most since he toyed with your hormones through the bond—but it has felt like forever. You can’t deny sometimes you foolishly hoped he would appear around the corner on the road, or that you kept checking your phone all the time, expecting him to send you more annoying text messages that never came. And you can't honestly explain _why_. For every ounce of irritation he rouses inside you, it's also like he's able to provide a kind of comfort no one else can.

A loud yawn, either yours or his, reminds you it’s probably past midnight. He must have been already sleeping when you arrived, because his white hair looks even more dishevelled than usual and—how could you forget?—he is gloriously half-naked. It turns out, there was quite a beautiful body hidden under those baggy clothes all this time. He is all lean, taut muscles, flexing tantalizingly beneath his pale skin with every movement. Your right hand twitches, not fast enough to dispel the traitorous thought of running your fingertips over his arms, the planes of his chest and the dip of his hipbones. Something small and golden glints in the dim light of the room.

Of course he had his nipples pierced.

And…

Oh.

The air hitches in your throat as your body sways dangerously but he is there, catching you with an arm around your shoulders. He touches your forehead with his other hand and curses. “Fuck, doll, you're burnin' up.”

You barely hear him, too enthralled by the thin, black letters spelling _your name_ ever so delicately, right over his heart.

There it is, the very thing you didn’t want to ever see because it would mean too much—an end, and the beginning of something you're probably not prepared for. Your greatest fear. But the mark you have so often compared to a monster in your mind doesn’t look frightening at all. It’s… beautiful. And maybe that's what truly makes it something fearsome. Hot tears prickle the corner of your eyes as you lift a hand and bring it to his chest, hovering tentatively without touching his skin, feeling the warmth he radiates but fearing it will consume you in flames.

“Oh, that. Y-yeah…,” he stutters, “I know you hate it and I know you hate me, but—“

 _I hate you_ , echoes in your mind. The message you sent.

You have stupidly said so many times how much you hate him, hate this bond, hate everything related to it.

But there was no real meaning behind those words, you realize. Hate was just easier to comprehend than whatever ancient, powerful feelings he awakes deep in your soul.

Those that are tearing you apart.

"I-I..."

“Save the insults for later, sweetheart. We gotta do somethin’ before you pass out, or worse.”

He carefully guides you to what must be his own private bathroom. It’s pretty neat and cleaner than you would have expected, considering the aspect of the rest of the house, but you can’t help but notice the mirror is cracked beyond repair, as if someone had punched it or thrown something against its surface. It’s easy to forget what an angry soul he is, when he looks at you like that, when his arm is wrapped protectively around your body, like you are something precious and fragile he is afraid to break. _Passionate_ , you remember your mother saying, so long ago.

He leans you against the wall, only retiring his hands when he is sure you won’t fall somehow, and proceeds to turn the numerous knobs of the absurdly luxurious-looking shower, checking the temperature with his hand. “Okay, I think it’s not too hot. You can go in.”

But you don’t move, blinking expectantly, until his cheeks flush pink.

“Uhm, look, I’ll leave ya alone for… privacy and stuff,” he coughs awkwardly, “but if I think you’re takin’ too long, I’m comin’ in.”

He places a folded towel on the countertop and leaves you alone. The pitter-patter of the shower hitting the porcelain plate below the only noise in the room. It sounds like an inviting lullaby, wisps of steam rising to enshroud the bathroom in a gentle fog. You peel of your disgusting, muddy clothes and throw them on the sink. Wincing, you realize you have already dirtied the white tiles where you leant against the wall and you have likely left a trail of footsteps all around the manor. Your bra and your panties aren’t as dirty as the rest, put they cling to your skin uncomfortably, cold and soggy.

Shuddering, you step into the shower. A long, pleased sigh leaves your lips the moment the lukewarm stream touches your skin and then a hiss when the spray cleans the cuts and scratches on your arms. It burns, but you know it’s only a delusion caused by the fluctuations of your corporal temperature and compel yourself to endure it. Your teeth chatter as you wait for warmth to soak in, the trembling subsisting little by little, until you feel like you are floating in the cloud of steam—relaxed, weightless, safe.

Reality sinks in, reminding you where you are, with whom, in which circumstances, but despite it all you can’t succesfully cling onto the fear. You are not scared. Only nervous, and not even bordering on anxiety like you would have expected. Just… self-conscious, because this is one hell of a weird situation and you are naked in _his_ shower.

There’s a knock on the door. “You alright in there?”

“D-don’t come in,” you squeak.

He grumbles something and steps away from the door.

The moment you reluctantly turn off the shower and step out of the shower plate, you start shivering anew. Your skin feels feverish, the coldness of the rain sticking to your very bones. You wrap yourself in the towel, drying yourself as quickly and efficiently as possible with weak, shaky fingers. Dejectedly, you inspect the muddy bundle of fabric in the sink and attempt to peel what used to be one of your favourite shirts apart from the shorts, though it results impossible to tell where one begins and the other ends. They are ruined.

 “… G-Guzma…”

“Hm?”

“M-my clothes…” you sob.

“Ah, right. Fuck. Wait.” He walks away, several seconds tick by, then he’s there again. “I’m gonna open the door, just a bit, ‘kay? Not gonna look. Put this on.”

True to his word, he merely opens the door ajar enough to slip an arm through the gap. It reminds you of the night visit at the motel, when he wanted to see the mark—how he didn’t lift your shirt all the way, just enough to take a peek. You take the bundle of white fabric and he retreats his hand again, closing the door.

Standing in front of the cracked mirror, you put the familiar t-shirt on and watch how it nearly swallows you whole due to the size difference, falling to mid-thigh like a dress. The well-worn fabric feels nice against your skin, warm and… it smells like him. Musky and oddly pleasant. Intoxicating. Embarrassed by the undeniable effect he has—at the very least— on your basest instincts, you clench your thighs together. And then you notice the article of clothing that was concealed inside the shirt and fell to the tiled floor. Flustered, you make a humiliating choking noise and pick it up. A pair of black boxer-briefs. _His_ black boxers.

 _Don’t be stupid. It’s not going to bite you, it’s just underwear_ , you tell yourself, clumsily stepping into them and dreading the tiny bit of wetness between your legs that rushes to meet the smooth cotton as it moulds to your shape. _  
_

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, surrounded by a cloud of steam, he is sitting on the unmade bed, elbows on his knees and chin resting pensively on a hand. He turns around when he hears the door opening, but doesn’t immediately stand up. He stares at you, and you stare back through heavy-lidded eyes, supporting your weight on the wall, once more lost in the awkward silence where there is too much to be said and none of you have any idea of where to begin.

“So, let me get this straight... You don't want anything to do with me but then you come here to knock on my door in the middle of the night _and_ in the middle of a mothefuckin’ storm. I'm not a fan of all these damn mixed signals, doll,” he eventually mutters, shaking his head in what you assume is a mechanism to quell the anger. "First the desert, now this… you’re awful at takin’ care of yourself, aren’t ya?”

Looking down at the dirty carpet, your sore throat can only produce in a soft, croaky murmur. "O-only when you’re involved." Every word hurts like fire and you wince, deciding it's best if you don't speak more than neccesary. "Y-you stole..." you cough. "From a little girl."

“Nah, I had nothin’ to do with that,” he grumbles with distaste. “Plumes was... seriously pissed off. She said she wanted to have a word with you and I have no fuckin' idea how that happened."

“She didn’t take well the news... of the bond.”

“Well, not worse than ya did," he retorts.

Ouch.

The acid of his words stings right in your heart.

But you know—you admit—you probably deserved that.

“I’m sorry."

Since his immediate reaction is to arch an eyebrow, you're not sure he has heard your weak whisper. Then he sighs, deep in his chest, and his frown softens into uncertainty. “And what the hell are you apologizing for, doll?”

Rubbing your clammy forehead you swallow spit, and wince at the sensation, not really prepared to answer. Both physically and emotionally. “I... don’t know. Sorry... for everything?”

You dislodge yourself from the wall and take a wobbly step towards the huge bed. It looks so inviting. Under Guzma's bewildered gaze, you drop your full weight on the mattress, falling on your side and curling into a ball. “Sorry... for what I said. I was angry. And you can be an asshole... sometimes. I don't think... I really hate you."

An ugly coughing fit steals your breath for a few seconds.

"Hey, don't be stupid and force yourself. Stop talkin'. I get it."

Shaking your head no, you ignore both him and the burning in your throat, knowing that if you don't get the truth out of your chest right now when all your mental walls are down, you'll only drift back into denial. "It's... I don't know. I'm... such a mess, too. I think... knowing there's someone there... that _you_ are there...  is the only thing keeping me sane. I don’t really... understand it myself. I feel like… I understand less every passing day. Sorry.”

You yawn, twisting the dark green duvet in your fist.

“It's like... I've always done what they expected of me. Not what I truly want. The bond was... a delicate subject. Then you appeared. I was afraid. I don't understand this connection... and I don't understand myself. I’m just... so _tired_.”

He listens to your emotional outburst, caught by surprise at first and looking at you intently by the time you finish. His stormy eyes are concerned and full of an open fondness that hits your foggy intellect like a truck, stealing whatever little breath is left in your lungs. Then he turns to look at the far wall, racking a hand through his hair as he exhales noisily through his nose. At this precise moment, he looks like an entirely different person. Calm, patient, understanding. All this time, you haven’t been fair with him, haven’t you? Judging him from the very beginning. Running away. And yet here he is, taking care of your foolish self the best he can.

 _Damn,_ _you are a terrible person_.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, doll,” you hear him mutter, at last. He waves dismissively toward the wardrobe at other side of the room. "The Yungoos is right there if you want it. The stupid thing tried to bite me, anyway." 

“Oh… right.” The original purpose of this impromptu visit had almost slipped your mind. “I almost thought... you'd stolen it so that I came here.”

“Huh. Not a bad pland but I can think of a couple better ways to take you into my bed, doll.”

You mouth draws a small smirk and you manage to cough out a brief laugh. “I bet you can.”

He chuckles a comforting rumble of laughter. “Feelin’ better already?”

“A lil’ bit. Not so cold. I just… Do you mind if I… close my eyes… a moment…”

“Crap. Wait.”

The springs of the mattress protest with the abruptness with which he stands up. You feel the shift, and suddenly there are strong arms slipping under you and lifting your body as if it weighted nothing, pressing you against a hard, warm chest. The bond _sings_ and you reach towards the private lullaby with a sleepy smile. His deep voice shushes you softly, as he manoeuvres you onto a better position on the right end of the bed and draws the sheets over you.

“Mmmmnight.”

Drifting off, you hear him rummage around as you stand on the thresold, just outside the chambers of sleep. You moan softly and lean against his touch as long fingers comb through the still damp tresses falling around your face. Guzma towels your hair dry for a bit, until he deems the result good enough. When you hear him move again, you mumble a thanks and snuggle against the pillow. Though half-asleep, your heart skips a beat when you feel him sliding under the blankets behind you. However desperate you are for rest, the minutes tick by and you are unable to fall asleep, the miserable cold embedded deep in your veins yearning for the warmth you felt earlier on his skin. Your body aches to inch closer to the source of the heat, so close, so inviting, but you stupidly refuse.

Eventually, he sighs and loops an arm around your middle, dragging you closer with a mortifying squeak until your back is flush with his bare torso. “Better?”

“… yes.”

“Great, now stop squirming and let me sleep, girly.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “… Guzma?”

“What?”

Hesitantly, you place your hand on the arm wrapped around you, your fingers curving comfortably around the muscles of his forearm. You can feel both marks pulsing in time with your heartbeats, warm, contented at last. "Thank you.”

He plants a lazy kiss on your hair and hugs you closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the silly Les Mis joke and win a cookie!
> 
> Ask whatever you want here: http://fightingmonsterswithwords.tumblr.com/


	8. Stuck In the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Guzma bond over a much needed talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yes, I'm stuck in the middle with you  
> And I'm wondering what it is I should do  
> It's so hard to keep this smile from my face  
> Losing control, yeah, I'm all over the place (...)
> 
> Trying to make some sense of it all  
> But I can see it makes no sense at all (...)."  
> Stuck In the Middle With You, by Stealers Wheel
> 
>  
> 
> This is a mess. I'm a mess. Reader's a mess. I can only apologize for the delay and my attitude.  
> I'm stupid and usually overthink everything. Over the last couple of weeks, with all the stress of real life, I started thinking this fic is shit. Partly because I created it on a whim, to see where the whole Soulmate AU could go, and I just kind of keep making most stuff up as I write. I had half a mind to just re-write the whole thing because, objectively, the plotline and Reader's personality have so many holes and there are scenes so poorly written... but then I saw all the support it receives - the comments, visits and kudos - and I stopped myself. So I'll just keep writing for now, and maybe edit the whole thing in the future if that's what I still want then.
> 
> I lied - there's no smut, yet.  
> This chapters was going to be pure PwP, but it didn't entirely feel right. Then it turned into a dark piece of pure angst, and it felt even worse. It ended up being an odd piece of angsty fluff, idk, these two seriously need some bonding. As a result, this is over 7-pages-long and feels kind of all over the place.
> 
> Sorry for the uncessarily long and angry rant. I'm just annoyed with myself on so many levels.  
> I want to give a shout-out to the lovely person behind the account http://plot-of-roses.tumblr.com/, for sending me a message and an amazing drawing of Guzma that kind of slapped me out of my childish tantrum. :)

You are in for a long and restless night.

The first time you wake up, shaken by the rumble of thunder, you feel disoriented and febrile. It takes several seconds of panic until you remember where you are, with whom you are and how you got here. The stolen Yungoos, Po Town, the storm, the shady house, Guzma. The tempest seems to be gaining strength, the violent drumming of the raindrops against the window echoing around the dark room like an ominous melody. Guzma’s soft snoring lulls some sense of security into your delirious mind, which feels so awfully heavy and hazy. If there existed any doubt of you being sick before, it has surely disappeared now—your weakened body can’t decide between feeling too cold and too hot, sweating and shivering all at once as you fight back tears of discomfort. Half-asleep, your bed partner grunts something, sensing your distress, and his arm tightens around your middle to bring you closer to his hard body. The man is like a damn furnace, and still you can’t get enough of the comforting heat he creates no matter how wrong and confusing everything seems. In a matter of minutes, you are out like a light, huddled against him.

The second time, it’s coldness what awakens you. The covers must have slipped off the bed at some point and the night air feels uncomfortable on your sweat-soaked skin. The room is still submerged in shadows but the downpour seems to have stopped or, at least, diminished in intensity. Someone had told you it seldom ceased raining around this part of the island. Guzma’s breathing is the only clear sound in the darkness. The world moves underneath you in time with every soft exhalation of air, and you notice the scene has changed drastically—now it’s _you_ who is shamelessly wrapped around Guzma, practically lying on top of him with your head on his left shoulder and one leg thrown over his waist, knee hooked over his hip in a very compromising position.  The sudden surge of heat that licks at your insides comes from deep inside you, this time. Feeling awkward as ever in your entire life, you shuffle in retreat to your side of the bed, careful to not wake him up, though the strong arm still wrapped around your waist keeps you from getting too far. At the very least, you are not half-straddling him anymore. Cuddling is… more or less acceptable, you decide, if quite embarrassing. Luckily, your mind doesn’t stay awake long enough to dwell on the moral predicaments of the situation much longer. Drawing the fallen blankets to cover both your bodies, you drop your eyelids with a sigh, and drift back into sweet obliviousness

What feels like mere minutes probably span several hours because, when you manage to pry your heavy eyes open for the third and last time, the pale light of sunrise is seeping into the room through the large windows on the opposite wall. There are no curtains, the unexpected brightness resulting almost blinding. You are all alone in the huge bed, which suddenly feels miserably cold, not a trace of lingering warmth in the sheets as you trace your hands over the spot Guzma occupied through the night. The beginning of something akin to disappointment starts spreading inside your chest, but you try to focus on something else. Something easier to understand. Your head feels mercifully lighter, though still foggy, but the worst seem to have already passed. However, you are seriously dying of thirst… and other natural urges.

With a quiet groan, you will your sluggish body to drag itself to the adjacent bathroom. You do your business, eyeing with conflicting emotions the trail of mud you left on the pristine white tiles the night before, which no one has cleaned yet—well, it should be you undoing your wrongs and not someone else. That is, sort of, the whole point in delaying your departure from Po Town, after all, besides the unexpected turn of getting caught in a storm. There are things that need doing, things that need saying, and this is as good a start as any other. Guiltiness settles in your gut, thinking at how clean and tidy everything was when you arrived, and how unexpectedly nice and understanding Guzma has been tonight, but then again, he just keeps jumping between that awkward and caring façade and his usual roughness. Not that you are one to talk, with all your recent changes of mind.

Yanking the borrowed underpants up your legs, you flush the toilet and make your way to the cupboard under the sink. A sigh of relief escapes you at seeing there are some cleaning products hidden in there, because you were already thinking on the mess it would be trying to clean everything with a bunch of wet toilet paper. You pick the best looking out of the filthy pile of cleaning rags with the very tips of your fingers and read the label of the various bottles until deciding on one that suits your needs. You pour a bit of blue liquid on the rag and a bit more on the tiles for good measure. The pungent, chemical odour that fills the bathroom is enough to turn your stomach, but you force your body to overcome the unpleasant wave of nausea and get to work.

You diligently scrub the crusted grime until the rag turns an ugly brown and starts spreading the filth onto the tiles instead of removing it, choosing to switch it for the second-less-filthy cloth from the small pile. Once the floor is devoid of any visible speckle of dirt, you crawl toward the wall next to the shower and begin scrubbing at what seems to be… a muddy imprint of your ass.

“Ya know, I wouldn’t mind keeping that one. It’d make good decoration.”

You flinch at the sudden re-appearance of Guzma, watching you from the threshold with an amused expression on his drowsy-looking face. A good night sleep, much unlike the one you have had, seems to have brought his loud and taunting usual self back, at least to some extent. He is doing that maddening thing with his eyebrows that make him look annoyed with the whole world. At some point, he has put a white sleeveless shirt on—something you briefly, secretly lament—and changed the pyjama pants by the usual black and white sweats. You think there is something amiss about him until you realize he isn’t wearing his trademark eyeshadow, this early in the morning—it makes him look a bit less menacing, the lack of shadows enhancing some of his other handsome features apart from those unfathomable grey eyes.

You catch yourself before your thoughts go into dangerous territory. Not the time. “There’s no way in hell that’s happening,” you reply, making sure to scrub the large stain extra-vigorously until the tell-tale shape disappears. “Much better.”

“Fuckin’ killjoy, aren’t ya?" he sighs, walking into the bathroom. " What the heck are you doing cleanin’, anyway? You’re sick. Shouldn’t you be restin’?”

“I feel better now and it got dirty because of me anyway, so—“

“Tsk. It’s just mud,” he approaches you with languid strides until he is looming over your knelt form, tall and imposing. Conflict flashes behind his eyes as he gazes down at you with a deep frown, as if you were an enigma he can’t quite understand, for several seconds. Then, he outstretches a hand for you to take. “Come on, leave that shit. Someone’ll take care of it later. I’ve got ya some food and medicine.”

Scowling, you reluctantly accept Guzma’s hand. He helps you to your feet in a simple, forceful pull that has your shoulder joint protesting in pain, but you swallow the whimper of discomfort. Yep, he’s definitely back to his rough, usual self. He drops your hand as soon as you are standing, as if it burnt, and walks away. Rubbing your sore shoulders, you drop the rag on the sink with your ruined clothes from yesterday and follow him back into the bedroom, if only because you are positively starving. He has dragged a tall round table across the room, to the bedside. Two steaming cups of instant noodles await on its surface, along with napkins and two glasses of water. Duh. What were you expecting, a fancy breakfast? These guys probably live on the cheapest, most unhealthy class of fast food on a daily basis. Still, right now it smells heavenly and, as soon as you take a seat on the edge of the mattress, you take the pair of chopsticks Guzma offers and dig in like a ravenous beast.

“Slow down, will ya? Don’t want your puke all over my stuff. Here, I found something useful in Plumes’ medicine cabinet,” he places a small white pill in your hand. “Even if you look better now… you should prolly take it, just in case.”

“Oh,” you inspect the pill with a critical eye, twirling it between your fingers. After confirming it’s just a common brand of cold tablets and not something potentially poisonous, you swallow it with some water, cringing at the slight bitter aftertaste, and mutter a soft, heartfelt: “Thank you.”

“No prob,” Guzma mutters. His face grows faintly pink as he turns to avoid your gaze, focusing on whatever noodles are left at the bottom of his cup. He makes a nasty show out of slurping the soup, making you grimace and look away. You have the feeling that is exactly what he pretended.

The palpable tension you have grown accustomed to experiencing whenever the two of you happen to be left alone in the same room begins to weight heavy on the ambience. It prickles your skin like a ghostly charge of static electricity. Squirming uncomfortably, you eat your noodles in relative silence for a while until your hunger is mostly sated and decide to slow down, absent-mindedly stirring the contents of your plastic cup in between bites. You feel compelled to initiate a conversation, partly because it’s usually him who gathers the courage to break the ice, and partly because there is so much—too much—you should probably attempt to clarify. Both to him and yourself.

Nonetheless, eloquence eludes you. Again.

“There’s an awful amount of outcast kids you’ve got holed up in this place,” you say, feeling stupid as soon as the words leave your mouth. “I also—sort of—ran away from home, I guess. I was fed up with my family and decided to come all the way to Alola. Trying to make something useful with my life and all that jazz, somehow ended up working for Kukui and stuck doing the island challenge because Tapu Coco thought it was a good idea. It sounds so crazy now that I think about it, to be honest. It seems like ages ago.”

“Wha—that’s…” he trails off, nonplussed, furrowing his brow into an even deeper scowl. “Wait a moment, where the hell are you from?”

“You really thought I was from around here? I mean, I don't exactly fit in but with all those tourists around one's never sure... But I’m from good ole Kanto. Viridian City,” you answer with a soft chortle that ends in a conflicted frown. “I think, maybe, that’s one of the things that bothers me about all of this—we don’t know each other. Like, at all. And it’s so damn scary to feel tied to someone strange that holds so much power over you."

He leaves his empty cup of noodles on the table with a scoff and moves to lay down on the bed, hands placed behind his head. “Huh, you say that like you weren’t the one who ran away as soon as we met. Can’t get to know someone who wants nothin’ to do with ya.”

“I know, and I said I’m sorry for the way I reacted to… everything. I’ve been stubborn and selfish, and in avoiding all of this I only made matters worse, for both of us,” you sigh, setting your empty cup down as well and moving to sit beside him against the headboard of the bed, knees drawn to your chest. The truth is the least you can offer, even if every word weighs like lead on your tongue. You take a deep breath. He lets you talk. “We’ve had this damned mark for almost seven years now. It was the first week of October. It was raining, that night, too. I don’t know how old you were, but I was only thirteen when your name appeared out of nowhere. And I got so fucking scared. The notion of being soulmates with someone, anyone, still frightens me beyond belief. It’s complicated. My family… They put so much pressure on me, I’ve being running from this shit all my life, even before my soulmate appeared. At this point, I didn’t expect to meet you when I did, the way I did, or that you would be… well, _you_.”

“Geez, doll, you sure know how make a guy feel special!” he snarls, the fleeting hostility making you flinch slightly. “You say all that like _I_ did chose anything! I remember that day, too. I was sixteen, for your information. And I told ya, you couldn’t have worst timin’ either—back then and now. I’ve got some big plans in mind, you know? But after the whole mess in Malie I tried to accept it. You were there. For a moment I almost felt…” he stops himself with a grunt. “Point is, you just kept running away from me like I was the fuckin’ plague. But sometimes you seemed to… not-exactly-dislike me, either. Like _now_. It’s annoying, not knowing what you fuckin’ want.”

“I know it doesn’t change anything, but… I really am sorry.”

No one says nothing for a long while. The silence picks the hurricane of emotions spinning inside your mind apart—the guilt, fear, sadness, remorse, hopelessness—and plays with them like a child rummaging through a shiny new toy box; throwing them in all directions until all there’s left are a lot of mismatched, broken pieces you don’t know what do with. You catch yourself with a loud sniff before you start crying. Guzma curses at seeing a traitorous first tear roll away from your glassy eyes.

“Fuck no, stop that shit,” he exclaims, making you recoil around yourself even further. He turns on the bed to place his hands on your shoulders. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I said there was nothin’ to apologize for, last night, didn’t I? Really, it’s fine. Stop fuckin’ crying… _Please_.”

“I just... It's not logical at all. I’m fucking terrified of this stuff. And now I also feel awful for behaving like a petulant child and hurting you. I don’t know how to deal with all this, and the bond keeps messing my head up.”

Silence falls again like the curtain at the end of a theatrical act. Guzma looks down at you, unsure of what to do, then he moves to sit against the headboard by your side, manoeuvring his arm so that it wraps around your back and he starts rubbing circles on your shoulder, because that seems to make you feel better. He sighs and angrily tugs at his hair with the other hand.

“Hey, don’t do that,” you reprimand, and he scoffs. “Maybe we could... start over. Somehow.”

“Well, now that we’ve established you don’t really hate my guts, we can work on stop being fuckin’ idiots. You said I don’t know ya. And you don’t know me. So let’s start there.” He clears his throat and add, nervously. “Just... not really personal stuff, for now?”

Sniffling, you give a slow nod. “I’m fine with that. I won't pry into Team Skull's top secret plans.”

The ensuing conversation starts almost ridiculously slow, cautious. Favourite colours, birthday dates, foods you can’t stand, the very first pokémon you managed to capture on your own… nothing that feels too intrusive. You slowly shift closer to one another when the discussion turns in that last direction. Talking about pokémon just feels natural and comes way too easily because it’s something you both feel deeply passionate about. He tells you how he used to walk down to Hau’oli beach at dawn every single day as a kid, trying to make himself with a Wimpod. The mental picture of a young Guzma jumping around in the sand trying to catch bugs makes you laugh wholeheartedly. In turn, you tell him about the stupidly long time you spent studying at Viridian Academy. He teases you for being the teacher’s pet and you protest a bit too loud that it’s not true—but it kind of was. Playfully, you swat him on the chest with the back of your hand and notice, only then, how you have moved to lean against him with your head lying on his shoulder. But you choose not to say anything, and neither does he. Somehow, you end up talking about your first encounter at Malie Garden.

“Heh, you looked like such a mess that day—not as much as yesterday, though.”

“… I had a pretty bad, long day,” you murmur. “Then it got worse. My friends were nowhere to be found and then I get tangled in that weird scene with you and Kukui in the gardens. At least I got a free, fancy dinner out of that.”

“Tsk. Still, I thought ya were hot as fuck. That battle made me so fuckin’ hard.”

You choke on your breath, halfway between a gasp and a laugh, taking your head off his shoulder. There is no way in hell you are going to admit out loud your first encounter had a similar effect on you, or that it pretty much ruined the whole experience of pokémon battling for you. “… You have such a bold, dirty mind.”

“Not gonna deny it. But it’s also your fault, anyway.”

“How is it _my_ fault?"

“Well, you’re… ya know, very pretty and stuff. Smokin’ hot. I told ya, I already though so before I even knew who you were. I wasn’t even that mad about losin' the battle,” his voice lowers as he speaks, trailing of in an incomprehensible growl that brings colour to your cheeks. “Definitely was worth it.”

“I’ll... uh, take that as a compliment—I guess.”

“It is”, he chuckles, though you can tell he’s somewhat embarrassed. “A Guzma compliment, take it or leave it. I’m not… good with this stuff. But I guess I'm, uhm, willin’ to try.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re not doing that terribly. At times. Probably. I’m not good with this stuff either. I just don’t know how to deal with it but I think I’d like to, I don’t know, _try_ , like you say. Take things easy for a while, and see where it goes from here? Does it even make sense?” you murmur, burying your face in your hands.

“Hey,” he calls, tugging at your fingers to reveal half of your blushing face. “It does. Make sense, I mean. At fuckin' last you’re finally giving me something I can work with.”

Humming in bitter, silent agreement—because you know it’s true—, your eyes wonder around the room, not entirely willing to look at him while discussing what comes next. “A friend lent me this book that says the whole soulmate covenant doesn’t seal until we, eh… until we…”

“Until we fuck and stuff?”

You cough awkwardly. “Yeah, that.”

His chest rumbles with amusement at your expense. “So, let’s take it slow. I don’t fuckin’ care. It's not like I'm _that_ eager to be tied to you forever, ya know.”

“Right,” you roll your eyes. “If I remember correctly, it was you messing with me through the bond, only a week ago. Like, _a lot_. Damned pervert. Which reminds me, please, don’t do that again without asking. just don't.”

“Hey!” he protests. “Alright, that _one_ time was kind of intentional, but I can’t always control what you receive through the fuckin’ bond and what not. But, yeah, okay, I’m sorry.”

“… You go at it surprisingly often.”

“What can I say? I’m just full of love.”

You can’t help it. You burst into laughter.

“Alright. I must say, this is really… nice”, you say. ”Just talking.”

“Yeah. I guess?” he is back to that part of him that always seems a little jumpy and awfully self-conscious, scratching the back of his neck. You lay your head back down on his shoulder, sighing, and feel his muscles tense for a bit before relaxing again. The two of you remain like that, in silence, for a while. You feel like you should probably say something more, _do_ something more, but you don’t feel prepared. Honestly, taking all of that off your chest has left you exhausted.

Eventually, it’s you who breaks the peaceful moment when the scene starts feeling a bit too much, moving to stand up. “I should probably keep going. The sun’s up and people must be wondering if you guys killed me and hid my body or something. Plus, there’s a distressed little girl waiting for her pokémon.”

“Right,” he groans, moving to let you leave the bed.

You gaze down at yourself with a scowl, having all but forgotten the whole predicament regarding your clothes. “Do you mind terribly if I, eh, keep these for a while? Not really feeling like wearing those muddy clothes again or walking around naked.”

“Why not? I wouldn’t mind. I don’t think anyone would mind.”

You reach to swat him again, this time on the leg that dangles off the mattress, feeling yourself grow red and flustered all over again. Maybe if you didn’t react all bashful every single time he wouldn’t enjoy teasing you so much but you can’t really help it—and he wouldn’t want any other way.

"But of course, keep 'em. You look even hotter in my clothes."

"... Cheesy."

With your ruined top and shorts in a bundle inside a plastic bag and the stolen Yungoos’ pokéball safely inside your messenger bag, he walks you down to the entrance of the mansion, not using the way you took to reach his room through wooden planks on the roof but sliding down the polished banister of the huge staircase. He does it such expertize, he must have had lots of practice. You can definitely see that being one of Team Skull’s usual pastimes. You try to mimic him and almost fall headfirst on the metallic mess that is the broken chandelier, but he gets there first. “Gotcha.”

Plumeria saunters in with a group of grunts—the same that accompanied her yesterday, you guess—just as you are about to walk out the door, sharp amber eyes widening at seeing you two together and being so, ahem, friendly. “You’re still here.”

“… Just leaving, actually.”

“G, a word upstairs?” she says, rather curtly.

He exhales a deep, moody sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, I’ll see ya there.”

You can feel her glare boring a hole on your head all the time until she disappears up the staircase.

Farewell feels awfully awkward all of a sudden, so you exchange a simple goodbye and jump onto the Charizard that answers your call on the Ride Pager. The flame pokémon takes off with a roar, and you cling onto its neck with a hand, the other holding the hem of your makeshift dress to avoid flashing the entire island. Acerola, Lillie and the twins are sitting on the steps outside Aether House when you arrive, jumping on you with happy cries as soon as you send the Charizard away.

First things first, you hand Yungoos back to the children and check that the pokémon is safe and sound, if perhaps a bit shaken by all the commotion. Some pokébeans and lots of love from his young master later, he is running around with the little boy’s Elekid as if nothing bad had happened. You leave them playing outside and the three of you move into the House, as you are desperate to get into some decent, dry clothes—you carefully fold and sneak Guzma’s shirt under your pillow, ignoring the knowing smirk plastered on Acerola’s face. When you tell them all about the rainstorm, the vandalized city of Po Town and having to spend the night in Team Skull headquarters, Lillie nearly panics and hurries to take your temperature and make you some hot tea.

“I’m fine, really.”

“Yeah, you _are_ ,” Acerola chimes in, snickering at your flushed face. “I’ll let you rest for now, but know that I want all the juicy details.”

“Nooooooo,” you moan.

"Oh, yesss."

Later on the afternoon, as you lay on bed lazily reading through a bunch of magazines along the girls, your phone buzzes with an incoming text.

_got anything to do tomorrow morning ?_


	9. We Can Dance or We Can Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was only a matter of time the both of you succumbed to your innermost desires. Beer helps, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I'm a flame  
> You're a fire  
> I'm the dark in need of light  
> When we touch  
> You inspire  
> Feel the change in me tonight  
> So take me up  
> Take me higher  
> There's a war not far from here  
> We can dance  
> In desire  
> Or we can burn in love tonight.”  
> Firestone, by Kygo
> 
>  
> 
> SMUT WARNING. And... alcohol drinking warning?  
> I spent all weekend writing this, then half ot today trying to make it decent. I've read through it so many times I don't even know anymore, just... enjoy!  
> Yes, I keep purposefully delaying Lillie's kidnapping because it will trigger all the angst.  
> I think everything up to the official end of the game will be a Part 1 of sorts, because what comes later will most likely have a different tone altogether.  
> Also, I just hate the idea of treating Team Skull grunts like generic pawns. I'm giving some of them names and personalities, and different hair dyes because I love the idea of them wearing all these crazy colours instead of just pink and blue.

The sun is barely peaking behind the imposing silhouette of Mount Lanakila when you arrive at the appointed meeting place. The coastal line of Route 16 is deserted, the salty breeze blowing through the bay making you shiver uncomfortably inside your jacket. It turns out, when Guzma asked if you had something important to do in the morning, he literally meant at the very break of dawn when not even most wild pokémon are up and about. None of your friends nor of the scientists were awake when you sneaked out of the building. You have been sitting on the cliff that overlooks the beach for a while, tugging at dewy blades of grass while admiring the astounding sight of the sun rising on the horizon line where the sky meets the sea, when you hear heavy footsteps approaching.

Guzma comes to a halt beside you, looking out into the ocean with his hands buried in the pockets of his sweats as usual. He seems to hesitate before breathing out: "You came.”

“Uh, yeah?” you look up at him with an eyebrow arched, stifling a yawn with the back of your hand. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Mornin’,” he mumbles back, sheepishly, going back to scratching the back of his head in that familiar nervous tic. “I thought, maybe you’d… uh, forget it.”

“Not gonna lie, I almost did change my mind when I saw you wanted to meet at fucking 6 AM. But I wouldn’t stand you up without warning,” you groan, struggling to stand up. “Besides, I managed to kick myself out of bed in time and had like a gallon of coffee, so… I’m ready. What did you have in mind?”

“You’ve got one of those Ride Pager thingies, right?”

Confused by the unforeseen request, you look inside your bag and hand the green device to him. It’s kind of funny to see the big bad guy struggling to understand how that little thing works. With a heartfelt laughter, you walk to his side and point what he is supposed to do on the small screen. His cheeks grow a faint pink and he quickly yanks the Ride Pager away from you, retracing the steps you just pointed out with an intent frown.

He climbs onto the back of the Charizard first when it arrives, giving the big pokémon some whispered directions away from your prying ears. This also forces you to sit behind him and hold onto his body to avoid falling from the admittedly narrow saddle, thought only for one passenger. You can tell he hadn’t taken that detail into consideration either, by the way his body tenses when the movement of your ride presses your front tightly to this back. It’s not like you are immune, either, to the feeling of his muscles flexing under your hands. Fortunately, it’s not a long trip to the neighbouring island and roughly fifteen minutes later you land on the West coast of Akala, right by the gloomy entrance to Lush Jungle.

“Do you plan on going in there? There’s a moody, giant Lurantis lurking around,” you question, waving the Charizatd goodbye.

“Nope,” he shakes his head, pointing in the opposite direction, towards the shimmering blue line that is the sea. “We’re going there, actually. C’mon.”

“You know, if you wanted to go to the beach there’s a ton of them in Ula’ula.”

“Not what I’m lookin’ for. Just… shut up already, okay? I mean, sorry, but this’s supposed to be a surprise!”

“Okay, _dad_ ,” you comply.

He mutters something under his breath but all you catch is the word “spanking”, which effectively shuts your mouth for the duration of the ensuing walk.

In truth, it hasn’t been that long since you were travelling around the second island of Alola but, right now, anything that preceded meeting Guzma feels like it happened an eternity ago. In another life. The mental and emotional struggle has taken a toll in your perception of time, of what is relevant and not, it seems. Everything has changed and keeps changing. You are changing, and that concept doesn’t even frighten you as much as it probably should, as much as you claimed it did. Subconsciously, you cannot help but wonder if he might be changing, too, because of your mere existence.

Your brain attempts to anticipate what this so-called surprise might be but, other than the dense rainforest where Mallow’s trial takes place, there is nothing around here safe for a cheap road motel. Stumbling with your own feet at the traitorous thought, you glower at the Team Skull insignia on Guzma’s back, wondering if those are his intentions. But, no, it would be stupid to take you all the way here for that, especially having discussed the logistics of your relationship the day before. Still, the idea teases your sleepy, caffeine-fuelled imagination.

Brain and gutter exchange places a couple of times as you trail behind him, fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt. However, he turns left instead, taking the path that leads to a secluded rocky beach on the opposite direction of the motel. Mentally scolding yourself for even considering the possibility, you release a breath that wavers between relief and disappointment.

He slows down before reaching the seashore, turning around and bringing a finger to his lips to indicate you must be silent. As you come to stand beside him, you take an inquisitive look down at the beach and realization dawns on you. “Oh.”

There’s a small group of arthropod pokémon crawling around, basking in the morning sun. The silver plates that compose their natural armour reflect glints of light, the long purple spikes that betray their vulnerable body beneath the exoskeleton curving backwards almost menacingly. They move swiftly on their short, hidden legs and stir the dark sand with their antennae, looking for bits of food amidst the gravel—and, you notice with indignation, the trash that tourists have left behind.

“Yesterday you said you didn’t have a Wimpod, so today we’re capturin’ one for your Pokédex,” he explains in a low voice.

Part of you feels somewhat annoyed at him for dragging you all the way to another island at such an unearthly hour just to catch bugs but you can’t help the warmth that spreads within your chest at seeing him so genuinely excited. He looks stupidly handsome when he smiles like that, when his eyes light up and the crease between his brows disappears. This is very important for him, and he wanted to share it with you. “Okay,” you answer in a careful whisper. “Let’s go,” you start to walk down to the beach, only to be stopped by his hand gripping your wrist.

He shakes his head. “Hold on a sec. You’ll only scare them all off if you waltz in there.”

“So, teach me how, oh, Master of Bugs!”

“Master, huh? I really like how that sounds, actually. Try again, whisper it in my ear.” You punch him on the arm, instead. “Alright, alright,” he exhales dramatically. Bending down to your height, he points to something on the bottom of the cove. “You see those small caves on the rocks? Make a wrong move, make too much noise, and they’ll run to hide in there. Wimpods can be real cowards in the wild, but they make some fierce and loyal companions if you manage to capture ‘em.  Believe me. Normally they just run away, but they can spit poison if they feel threatened by clumsy, careless girls, so just… follow my lead. Don’t want ya fallin’ sick _again_.”

You blow a raspberry at the accusation, cringing in guilt when one of the nearest Wimpods scampers away to the rocks at the sudden noise. The rest of the pokémon raise their heads in alert, inspecting any shifts on the air with their antennae. Guzma glares down at you admonishingly, and you mutter a quick apology. This side of him that keeps coming to the light whenever he is alone with you is so unlike what he usually shows the world—eager, serious, honest—you can only look at him, enthralled by the glint on his grey eyes as he goes back to explaining.

“… Did you hear a word of what I just said?”

“Something about pastries.”

“No, silly,” he ruffles your hair, making you squeal. “I said we’ll have to have _patience_.”

Embarrassed, you make sure to follow his instructions diligently from then on. He makes you lie down on the patch of grass on the edge of the cliff, right above one of the holes carved on the stone by the bugs. Together, you observe the three different Wimpods crawling around for several minutes, taking note of their various sizes and behaviour patterns before deciding on the one which seems the easiest to lure and capture. Guzma points to it, ranting on and on about the healthy shade purple of its spikes and the intelligent glint on the bug’s bulgy yellow eyes as you listen fascinated by the raw passion in his voice.

You crawl on your elbows and knees a little further along the cliff, looking for a good position to separate that specific Wimpod away from the rest and corner it. The bug currently has its head half-buried in a bag of chips, so it won’t see you coming if you act fast. Guzma bends down, half of his body hanging off the cliff to place a bunch of pokébeans on the ground. The height is relatively small and he is big enough to reach the ground without problem, but you blanch and hold onto his shirt in a panic, thinking he will fall.

He climbs back up with a lopsided grin. “There. If we’re lucky, it’ll smell the food and focus on that while I block the hole on its left and you approach from the other side. Quick,” he hurries, disentangling your fingers off his clothes without dropping them immediately. His thumb gently strokes your knuckles as he tugs you along to the beach, laughing quietly, and there you split to attack your prey from different flanks—you and Mimikyu on the right and him on the left. Your pokémon makes a meticulous work out of scattering the other Wimpods away with some sneaky attacks without alerting your target, but the bug is too busy munching on the beans to notice what is going on until it’s too late. Guzma jumps from behind a rock, scaring it in your direction where you are waiting with an angry Shadow Claw and a pokéball in hand.

“That was awesome,” you exclaim once the ball stops moving with a satisfying _click_ , sitting down on the sand  to face the ocean. “I’ve never captured a pokémon like that before.”

Chuckling, he plumps down by your side. “Never? There’s no fun in jumpin' on them right away. The chase, now, that is exciting. I just… The idea hit me after our talk yesterday. Wimpod was my first pokémon and it'd be awesome to get you one. Though now it sounds kinda stupid.”

“Not at all. It was a great idea. I had a blast. And,” you promise, placing a kiss on the pokéball. “I’m gonna treasure this little guy.”

“You better,” he warns, bumping your shoulder playfully.

Gazing up at his slightly flushed face, you impulsively lean closer and press your lips to his cheek. The kiss is chaste as can be, but it’s true your mouth lingers on his skin a little longer than necessary. You almost feel disappointed that this is the most you can manage without dying of embarrassment at the moment, mentally reproaching yourself for not being brave enough to try a real kiss. Be that as it may, you are quite satisfied with the furious shade of red on his cheeks. He sees your shit-eating grin and tackles you to the ground screaming “I’m gonna destroy you!”, trying to tickle your sides until you cry for mercy in between laughs.

 

* * *

 

Following that first unofficial date, it’s like a barrier of sorts has been broken. Another one. You start spending much more time getting to know Guzma on a personal level—exchanging goofy messages on the phone and sneaking out to hang out together a couple of times. Since you're allowed to stay at the visitor lodgings of Aether House a little longer, you follow Acerola’s advice and take some time off. The furthest you travel these days is to Malie in a shopping trip with the girls. Professor Kukui is less than thrilled when you share the decision of delaying the completion of your island challenge even further, but there are still many details to be polished before inaugurating the League either way. He becomes more understanding when you explain the eventful happenings of the last days—omitting as many intimate details as possible—, glad at hearing that you have finally come to terms with the whole soulmate business and are facing it like a more or less mature adult, though then he irks you by asking one too many times if Guzma is treating you right.

Because, alright, it might be hard to believe to those who are outsiders to the relationship but he really is trying his best to make this right. You have already grown weary of answering that question, always spoken in disbelief. Sometimes spoken by your own inner voice. And it’s not fair, because he is being incredibly thoughtful, patient and understanding beyond what you thought possible. More than you, probably, considering your past behaviour. Even though sometimes he can be a bit rough, react a bit too harshly or yell a bit too loudly, he never does it on purpose and it’s always followed by a sincere apology. He is not an easy person, burying what he truly feels and thinks sometimes and being almost brutally honest others. His past, you have learned by the way he withdraws whenever it seems the conversation may deviate towards that topic, is not a happy one. He has many layers, all of which you are trying to understand. And you like that little bit of roughness as much of the rest of him, if you are being honest with yourself.

The invisible thread that ties your souls together seems to be growing stronger, too, as does the sexual tension and the irrepressible yearning to just let him bend you over the nearest surface and have his way with you.

It starts slow and subtle. The smallest, softest of touches here and there. Hands brushing as you walk together around Ula’ula Meadow, lingering touches here and there with no particular reason, and then somehow you pick up the habit of running your fingers through his bristly undercut and get used to feeling his arm wrapped around your waist or his hand tracing idle circles on your wrist when he is distracted. It’s downright ridiculous, but you had not realized just how touch-starved you were until you lay alone in bed at night, missing his warmth. That quick kiss on the cheek the day he took you to catch bugs was something that occurred on the spur of the moment and you haven’t really gathered up the courage to repeat it, but the more time you spend with him, the more you crave his touch.

In fact, you start visiting Po Town at random times just to see him. The surly police officer living in the station nearby, whose name you learn is Nanu, gets used to seeing you around those parts, as do the bulk of Team Skull. Most grunts get out of the way when they see you walking through the gates but a small group have grown more approachable and even strike up small conversation with you in passing. Of course, there are many that remain unfriendly, trying to drag you into pokémon battles all the time. However, they have learnt to let you come and go.

Guzma’s position as leader of the gang seems to be more demanding than you had thought, sending you back home more than once because there’s something important and highly secret he must do. Those occasions are usually followed by a longer session of playful conversations and furtive caresses, so you don’t complain much.

Then there’s Plumeria, who is a completely different story altogether. After whatever talk she had with Guzma, she didn’t confront you again. She kept glaring daggers at you from the distance over your first visits to their headquarters, but that was all. It was one of the reasons you preferred to hang out in the Meadow. Little by little, though, you noticed she didn’t do it out of sheer loathing and that sometimes the older girl looked sad, worried, if anything. Then she started greeting you, if you happened to cross ways on the hallways of the mansion, and throwing brief phrases your way that were not entirely hostile. Still, she prefers to keep her distance and so do you. That condemning look in her amber eyes gets you every time. Luckily, as of late she seems to be too busy with her assignments as administrator of the gang as to result too meddlesome. 

This evening, you follow the path to the fortified town feeling like a giddy teenager, all nervous inside. It’s drizzling again, a light and gentle rain that will not last long. Your low-heeled boots splash on the tiny puddles on the cobblestone as you twirl the Shiinotic-themed umbrella you borrowed from Acerola in your hands. The door to Nanu’s station is closed when you walk by, a dark-coloured Meowth looking at you through the front window until you disappear up the road.

Your phone buzzes with a message from Guzma but replying seems rather stupid, considering that you are literally at the door. You have been receiving anxious messages asking where you are every five minutes for the last hour, growing increasingly shorter and wrongly spelled.

_Impatient much?_

The blast of electronic music reaches your ears as soon as you step into the abandoned neighbourhood. The immense shady house is a beacon in the growing darkness of the night, all the lights on and all the windows opened. The party has clearly started without you. Because, that’s right—you’re attending a party at Team Skull headquarters. If someone had told you this would be a reality in your life last month, you would have thought them insane. But here you are… foolishly eager. The last party you attended was on your nineteenth birthday, and you left home the very next day because it went so badly. Besides, this one is bound to be an absolute and wonderful chaos. When you inquired about the occasion, Guzma shrugged and reasoned it was always a good time to have fun and celebrate his greatness. You had intended to visit him anyway, bring a lousy horror movie and some popcorn, but you welcome the unexpected turn of events all the same.

Guzma, alcohol and your raging hormones—what could possibly go wrong?

The party must have been going on for a while already, as everyone you pass is well on their way to get wasted. You are stopped by the front garden where there’s a small group of people drinking and smoking underneath the palm trees. They raise their glasses in greeting, a familiar chubby girl with bright purple hair jumping on you screaming. “Look who’s come to join the fun! If it isn’t the resident Queen!”

“Hi, Chelsea. Hi, guys,” you accept the hug, wincing slightly at the effusiveness and blatantly ignoring the mocking title they have given you. “Had nothing better to do tonight when the boss dropped the invitation. Figured I could come by for a bit.”

“Just for a lil’ bit? No way, this party doesn’t end until the sun’s up. Someone give my friend a goddamn beer!”

“Here,” the heavily tattooed guy whose name you think is either Zack or Jack or something along those lines tosses you a can which, by sheer luck, you manage to catch it on the air. “One for the way.”

Suddenly you find yourself carrying too many things at once, so you fumble with the umbrella to put it away. The rain won’t be bothering you in a minute, anyway. In fact… You eye the entrance to the mansion with growing apprehension, heart threatening to jump out of your chest. Feeling like you will need the liquid courage, you open the can and down the beer in a series of greedy gulps.

The grunts on the ground whoop in admiration. “You go, girl!”

“I think I really needed that,” you hand them the empty can back. They hand you a second beer, not accepting protests. “Oh, okay. Thank you. See you later, I guess.”

“If the boss doesn’t lock you away, right?” they laugh.

 _Right_.

Your eyes find Guzma almost as soon as you cross the threshold of the house. He is leaning against the wall by the staircase, drink in hand, talking with a green-haired grunt whose name you can’t remember. Even with all the whimsical hair colours, it’s hard to tell all these guys apart sometimes when all of them sport the same moody frown. Guzma nods dismissively at whatever the boy is saying and takes a swig of his beer. Then his eyes deviate towards the door for a second and he does a double take. His face breaks into a blinding smile that really makes you appreciate the alcohol in your system.

“There she is, my beautiful girl,” he exclaims for everyone to hear. And everyone hears, and everyone turns to look, and everyone witnesses how he covers the distance to the door and sweeps you off your feet in a tight embrace amidst a chorus of whistles.

“H-hi there,” you laugh, awkwardly wrapping your arms around him too. “Just… how much did you have to drink?”

He huffs. “I’m _not_ drunk. What ya lookin’ at me like that for? It’s the truth. You’re fuckin’ beautiful,” he slurs. The appreciative way in which he looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, taking in the small black dress you decided to buy on a reckless impulse, is enough to set the blood in your veins on fire. “My beautiful mate,” he repeats a third time, tugging you even closer to his chest, burying his face on your hair and _inhaling_. The rumble of his voice caresses your earlobe, sending delicious shivers down your spine. “I really wanted to see ya tonight, you know.”

“Me too.”

Oh, that smile.

“C-Can I leave my stuff somewhere… safe?”

“Sure thing,” he tosses his empty can carelessly to the side to join the mounting pile of trash on the floor. Then he slides your bag off your shoulder without warning and starts jumping the steps two at a time, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t ya run away, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it…” You don’t need a mirror to know your whole face must be a bright, furious red.

The bond is sending maddening tremors to pool between your thighs with every word, every gesture. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea. What in the seven circles of hell was all that? Happy, over-affectionate drunken Guzma is more than your weak resolve can handle. If he as much as calls you beautiful one more time, you will melt into a puddle. You try to suffocate the heat with more beer but the soothing effect is lost as soon as Guzma re-appears. If anything, the drink goes straight to mess with your head.

He literally jumps in front of you, masterfully sliding down the banister, and grabs your hand in his. “C’mon, what do ya wanna do?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I've got a lot of catching up to do to match your level of partying, guys,” you say, taking a look around.

“Well, that’s pretty easy to fix.”

You try to ignore—to no avail—the fierce pounding of your heart inside your ribcage as he intertwines his long fingers with yours and starts dragging you away somewhere. You haven’t even drunk that much and already you feel intoxicated on all the sensations he’s awakening in you without even trying. It would be ridiculous to deny you came here tonight holding the tiniest hope that the carefree setting would dissolve whatever reservations stand in the way and something might happen, but maybe you underestimated the power he holds over you already.

Taking in a shuddering breath, you squeeze his big, warm hand and follow his lead to a large, dim room packed with black-and-white uniformed people dancing, jumping and chatting animatedly. There are no extravagant stroboscopic lights or anything and the DJ booth consists on a simple laptop connected to a big set of speakers in the far corner, but the atmosphere is nice and loud and you can feel your inhibitions swiftly disappearing in time to the rhythm of the music. There are numerous coolers brimming with drinks scattered around the place and a small mountain of pizza boxes on a long table, plus half a dozen couches shambolically pushed together against a corner to create a sitting area.

He grabs a couple of cold beers, gently touching his can to yours in a cheering gesture before you both take a drink, exchanging a meaningful gaze. There, you see it. He is hoping for something to happen, too. It becomes clearer and clearer as the night stretches on, how you have been playing this dangerous game of seeing who falls first and you are both standing at the edge of the precipice.

He doesn’t take your hand again immediately, but you can feel his fingers idly playing with yours now and then. Your own hands go to his chest once or twice to fiddle with the golden chain around his neck. There is a stupid smile plastered on your face that just won’t go away. You don’t make much quality talking and you almost prefer it that way, because you don’t feel capable of participating in a lucid conversation tonight.

One beer soon gives way to another, as the clock ticks by and you slowly gravitate towards each other. Your feet and hips sway to the rhythm of the music, not really dancing but almost getting there. People move in and out of the room. After a while you are joined by the grunts you greeted outside, pushing you towards the middle of the crowded dancefloor. The girl from earlier, Chelsea, is not satisfied with your shy movements, taking it in her hands to guide your body until you are clumsily copying her daring dancing style in between laughs. You start feeling very awkward when she grinds her hips against yours rather suggestively, dropping her body all the way down to the floor and brushing her ass against your front on her way back up, but out of the blue you are yanked backwards against a big, hard body. Her eyes widen comically, muttering an apology to the person behind you and she scrambles away to join her friends.

You see the faded purple tattoos on the person’s forearm, smell that wonderful musky scent, and feel the mark pulsing adoringly. Guzma’s hands fall to your hips, guiding your movements to continue the sensual swaying, only this time against his own hips and the bulge you can definitely feel hardening against your buttocks. “H-hey,” you squeak, stifling a gasp at feeling the tip of his nose lightly tracing the curve of your neck.

“Hey,” he replies in a low whisper. “Don’t get me wrong, that shit was hot as fuck but I wasn’t sure whether lil’ Chelsea here was trying to steal ya away from me or not.”

Eyeing the girl still looking at you two with a mix of fear and mortification from the other side of the room, you quietly laugh. “I’m not sure of what was that, either. But I think I’m too drunk to care, anyways. So, you came to my rescue?” you smile drunkenly, pressing your ass against his growing erection ever so slightly. “Sword and all.”

He hisses, squeezing your hips in warning. “Heh, of course. You feelin’ alright?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” you say, dropping your head back on his shoulder. “Just getting a bit dizzy with all these people around.“

He hums in understanding.

“Gotcha,” he says, placing a somewhat sloppy kiss on the curve of your neck. Your breath hitches and you feel him smirk cockily against your skin before stepping back and starting to lead you away once more, keeping his hold on your hip. At this point, your foggy brain is only aware of him and little else—his hands on your body; his eyes stealing heated, furtive glances down at your lips; his mouth curving into that infuriating and knowing grin; what you know is hidden in his pants. “Wanna go somewhere else? I don’t mean it in a funny business way, although…, yeah, forget that,” he coughs. “I hid the fancy drinks in my room for later.”

You find his nervousness so endearing. “Now is later,” you giggle.

He arches an eyebrow, smiling. “Upstairs, then?”

“Please,” you reach to place a brief, feathery kiss on the very corner of his mouth.

You barely register the trip to his bedroom, stumbling up the stairs, and you can’t even tell how you cross the precarious footbridge on the roof without falling to your death, given that he refuses to take his hands off you for a second. The moment the door closes, you find yourself pushed against its surface with Guzma’s panting mouth hovering over yours, his heavy breathing mingling with yours and the smell of beer. There only exists the two of you, in this moment, in the darkness. Your tongue darts to wet your trembling lips, unintentionally brushing his in the process, and the game is on. His mouth covers yours in a ravenous kiss. He is both gentle and rough and simply perfect as he presses his lips against yours.

You are still trying to figure everything out—figure _him_ out—but if there's one thing you can't deny even to yourself, it's that you want him. You _need_ him.

“I’ve been dyin’ to do this,” he whispers against your mouth, threading his fingers on your hair before delving in again. Once you start, it’s impossible to stop, getting lost in the taste of him.

The memory of what you discussed days before in that very room brushes the front of your mind. As soon as you, as Guzma eloquently put it, fuck, the soulmate bond will be sealed. It’s not as much ‘fucking’ in the crude sense of the word as offering oneself entirely in mind, body and spirit to the other willingly, often in an emotional flurry of voracious, carnal passion—that, sometimes, you have heard can lasts for days—, but… at this point you are confident any such interaction between you will fulfil those requirements. And you don’t want your hungry hormones and a couple of cheap beers to take such a significant decision.

You bit down on your lip to supress the frustrated groan, pushing lightly against his chest. “Listen, we… Fuck, you’re driving me crazy. But w-we really shouldn’t …”

He sighs. “I know, I know. No real sex yet. But, you know, there’s a million things we can do.” His mouth attacks yours again, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth to distract you from the next move so it’s a surprise when you feel his fingers tracing the curve of your neck and following the length of your collarbone, brushing lower over the cleavage of the dress to boldly trace the swell of your breast. When you open your eyes in shock, he is staring intently at your face, taking in every little shudder and every little sigh. His fingertips find a taut nipple, straining against your clothes, and trace lazy circles on it. He looks for a sign that you aren’t okay with where this is going, but keeps going when you bite down on your lip and nod. He tugs both the neckline of the dress and the cups of your lacy bra down to expose your breasts to the night, relishing in how you shiver and hold onto his shoulders. He goes back to playing with the hardening peaks, swallowing some of your whimpers and moans with hungry kisses and letting the rest echo in the dark room, encouraging you not to silence your voice with husky, muttered praises. “See? There’s a million ways I can make you scream my name.”

His pinches a nipple, hard, and gives it a gentle tug, grinning against your lips when you writhe miserably under his body. “G-Guzma…”

He likes your reaction too much. He keeps torturing your breasts, cupping them, squeezing, switching between gentle flicks and rougher tugs on your rosy nipples until they feel almost too sensitive and you are unable to withstand the torment any longer. He hooks his thumb under the bunched fabric to tenderly caress the mark, and you lose it. Pressing your lips against his in another desperate kiss, you meet his eager tongue with yours in a heated fight for dominance. You feel something hard, small and slightly cold that definitely shouldn’t be there and move away, confused.

Chuckling, he sticks his tongue out and you see the golden barbell there, matching the ones you saw the other day on his chest.

“Scared ya, huh?” he taunts, out of breath. “What if… you let me kiss you somewhere else?”

You help him pull your dress off all the way, the black garment pooling at your feet. There isn’t much time for self-consciousness before he is guiding your blind steps backwards, across the room, until your legs hit something. His throne. He sees your eyes widening and his grin turns almost wolfishly. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” He gives your body a gentle push so that it finds a seat on the glorified chair. You are positive you will die right then and then when he kneels in front of you, eyes flashing silver in the moonlight as he contemplates your naked body.

His fingers make quick work of your boots’ laces, tugging them off your feet and tossing them aside. Then he begins parting your legs and you tense up.

He notices it. “Something wrong?”

“N-no? I just… feel like I should tell you I’ve never… done this.”

“Are you a virgin?”

You emit a humorless laugh. “Not exactly. I hooked up with a couple of terrible guys in my rebellious phase back at school but they never, uh… you know.”

“What, those bastards never ate your pussy?”

You curse under your breath and shake your head, blushing furiously at his positively crude phrasing.

“Fuckin’ assholes. Their loss. Oh, babygirl, your boy is goin’ to have so much fun makin’ ya feel good,” he emphasizes his promise with a playful nip to your thigh. “Don’t close your eyes. I want ya to watch.”

He takes his sweet time kissing up the curve of your calf, alternating between soft pecks and excited, little bites. Before reaching the lacy edge of your underwear, he switches to the other leg and repeats the whole process. You cry out when he actually closes his teeth on the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, sucking on it until he’s sure the reminder of tonight will stay on your skin for at least a few days He kisses the reddened hickey lovingly and finally, finally moves upwards. His breath ghosts over the damp spot on your panties, and you grip the armrests of the throne, hips thrusting ever so slightly on the air.

“I’d swear my sweet girl wants somethin’, but… what could it be? Hmmm,” he teasingly muses, fingers playing with the elastic of your underwear. He presses his nose against your clothed sex, inhaling your scent and growling. The vibrations of the feral sound strike you deliciously, deep inside.

“Ahh, please…”

“Come on, tell me what ya want,” he commands, tugging at your panties with his teeth. The mere sight has you panting and opening your legs further in in a desperate invitation.

“Please, please, please— eat my pussy.”

“Oh, I’m gonna fuckin’ devour you, babygirl.”

He wastes no time in sliding your panties down your legs, hooking one of your knees on his shoulder as he leans down to meet your lower lips with his feverish ones in a lewd imitation of a real kiss. Your mouth falls open in a gasp and doesn’t close again, feeling his warm tongue parting your folds, delving into your entrance ever so slightly and running upwards to gently flick your clit. Every little noise you make feeds his hunger, lapping at your wetness like it’s the richest of honeys. His nose bumps onto the bundle of nerves at the top of your slit as he adventurously slips his tongue inside and explores the very depths of your being. He gives another lick from the bottom to the top of your slit, then another, and another, and his lips latch onto your swollen clit at last. He sucks onto the precious pearl and flicks it with the very tip of his tongue, learning the fastest way to drive you mad with need, until you feel the evidence of your arousal running down your ass.

He leans back a bit to catch his breath, mouth and chin glistening with your juices, but his darkened eyes never leave your sopping cunt. “Fuck, sweetheart, look at yourself,” he praises, and you feel your walls clench around nothing in response. “You like that, huh? You like hearing how much I enjoy eatin’ you out? How fuckin’ delicious your pussy is? How I’d like to tie you to my fuckin’ throne and keep you like this, open and wet for me for as long as I damn please, knowin’ you’d love every… fuckin’… minute… of it?”

“I-I, yes, I…,” you whimper, hips raising towards him in a shameful offering. His words hit you like nothing you have felt before, appealing to something vulnerable and primal inside you that desperately need his approval. “I need you.”

“But you already have me, sweetheart,” he smirks, delving right back in, grabbing your thighs to keep you in place where he wants you. Soon he has you panting for breath again, arching against his mouth. The noises that escape from your lips only can be described as vulgar. You risk a glance down to where your bodies join, enraptured by the sight of his skilful tongue drawing circles on your clit. If his eyes looking into yours with such smouldering intensity wasn’t enough, the metal ball pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves is enough to drive you mad. The fire coiling deep in your belly grows tighter, and tighter, and tighter, and he seems to have no intention of slowing down.

One of your hands leaves the armrest and reaches to grab at his hair, vacillating for a second, not wanting to hurt him, but he grabs it with his own and encourages you to thread your fingers on the wild white tresses. The growl that leaves his throat when you give an eager tug elicits an even louder moan from your lips, and he presses his mouth fully to your mound, closing his lips around your clit and sucking as his tongue continues its relentless assault. He has you at the precipice within seconds. Your head falls back in a breathless scream, hips thrusting against his face as he draws your pleasure for as long as possible, slowing to soothing laps on your oversensitive nerves until you are sobbing for him to stop, thighs quivering around his head.

“T-too much.”

He sits back on his heels, breathing heavily as he wipes your fluids off his chin. The lustful sight sends one last tremor down to your core, and you feel another bit of moisture leak out of your swollen folds. You feel so wonderfully drained and satisfied, and yet so hungry for him still that you could cry.

Guzma hooks an elbow under your knees and hoists your up into his arms to carry you across the room, dropping you to bounce on the huge bed. You drag yourself closer as he lays down with you after discarding his shirt and pants, gazing down at the noticeable bulge straining inside his boxers with your lips parted. Your fingers timidly trace his collarbone and stroke a line down his chest. You give a lazy tug at his pierced nipple, curious of the reaction you will obtain. He draws in a sharp breath, watching your ministrations through heavy-lidded eyes as you experiment with the metal beads for a bit longer. Your fingertips trace lower, taking their time to follow the lines of your name in slow, sweet torment. He starts shaking under your touch, fisting the sheets in his hands as your hand moves to trace the taut muscles of his torso and the tiny bit of belly, brushing against the dark trail of hair disappearing down below his tented boxers.

Emboldened by the alcohol, the lingering euphoria and the look of pure rapture on his face, you forget your shyness and cup him over the thin cotton, drawing circles on the dampness that is gathering on the tip with your thumb. You stare in awe at the outline of his impressive erection. He is big, objectively, and he also looks like the biggest you have seen.

Your head protests with the sudden movement as you sit up and crawl to your knees, moving to straddle his legs.

“Y-You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupt him, placing a loving kiss on his lips, and another one on his chest before moving lower. “I really want to make you feel good,” you breathe, running your tongue over his hardness through the barrier of his underwear. You feel him twitch under your lips as he mutters an unintelligibly obscenity. “B-but I, uh, don’t really know how to… return the favour, properly. I-I want to, though...”

Guzma curses, seeing your resolve faltering under the lack of experience and foolishly placed self-blame. “Damn. Hey, no, look at me, babe. I don’t fuckin’ care if you have never sucked dick before. It makes it all the sweeter, teachin’ ya, and I’ll gladly teach ya anythin’ you want. Be my sweet, good girl and c’mere,” his hands grip your hips and move you a bit further up on his thighs, then guides your body down until his cock is pressed flush against your lower lips. “We’ll do somethin’ different. Just—oh, fuck—yeah, just like that, baby.”

Pure lust and instinct have you humping him like an animal in heat even before he finishes the sentence. His voice trails off into the deep rumble you love so much as you shamelessly grind down on his erection, seeking the delicious friction that has you both moaning in unison. Your labia glide easily against the soaked cotton, all the way up and down his shaft, moaning every time your clit drags against the head of his cock.

“You look so fuckin’ good on top of me, baby,” he growls. “I want ya to ride me like this, one day. I want to see ya bouncin’ on my dick, while I’m sittin’ on my motherfuckin’ throne.” Keeping his grip on one hip, he trails his fingers up your belly to cup a breast, loving how it fills his hand. He rolls the pebbled nipple between his fingers, encouraging your thrusts to become faster and harder.  “Would you like that, hm?”

“Yes!”

Your moans grow into cries as you feel yourself getting close again. He reaches a hand down to rub circles on your throbbing clit and the dam breaks, pressing your forehead down onto his chest as your walls spam. He uses his grip on your hips to flip your bodies around so that he’s looming above you, pressing you against the mattress, thrusting against your cunt and dragging out your orgasm as he seeks his own. His thrusts have nothing on yours. Hard and relentless. He is a force of nature, dragging his sex against yours in ravenous, delirious need. “Fuck, fuck, fuck— I’m cumming.”

He tenses and trembles in your arms, groaning a string of curses, then drops his full weight on the bed beside you with a huff. Breathing heavily, he swipes the sweat off his face and moves to drag the dirty underwear down his legs, using them to clean both you and his cock before throwing them to the side. “You don’t mind if we sleep like this, do ya?”

“I don’t know… I don’t really feel like sleeping,”

“The night’s young, baby. Who knows, there might even be time to work on those lessons.”

Shaking your head with a hearty laugh, you curl around his side with a shaky, contented sigh.

Outside, the party goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always. ❤


	10. Sirens Burning, Red Lights Turning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The (heated) calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know what you're thinking, sugar  
> But I just got that feeling, sugar  
> I can hear the sirens burning  
> Red lights turning  
> I can't turn back now  
> So hold on tight."  
> Dangerous, by David Guetta
> 
>  
> 
> I don't even know how we've made it to the 10-chapter mark, especially with over 13.000 hits and 1270 kudos. This is crazy. (!!!)  
> Honestly, I can't believe the support this receives. THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart. ♥  
> Sometimes, when I'm feeling down, I read your comments all over again and smile (and cry a bit).
> 
> This follows directly from last chapter. Short-ish smutty filler before we get back on track with the game plot.  
> PS. Yes, I decided to give him a Prince Albert. I have never been with a guy with piercings, though, so I'm flying blind here with my imagination and whatever information I find online.

True to your prediction, sleep doesn’t come easily. Little accustomed to such activities, your body demands some rest, but your mind’s wheels keep whirring and turning.

Thus, for a long while you just lie there in the semidarkness, wrapped around Guzma and lazily tracing the black lines of your name on his chest while coming down from your ecstatic high. He mumbles something about resting his eyes and dozes off almost immediately, not that you blame him. Still, you remain wide-awake. There is an angry buzz under your skin, fire pumping through your veins, that has nothing to with the alcohol—a bubbling of raw nervousness, excitement, fear…, and happiness. At least, it may be the truest and closest sensation to the idea of happiness you have ever felt. Here and now, in Guzma’s arms, in his bed, in an abandoned house turned gang hideout, oblivious to the world, you feel _free_.

Everything because of this handsome bastard, currently sprawled on top of the covers, snoring and gloriously naked as the day he was born.

It’s a chilly night. You think about throwing a blanket on him but, his skin is always so freakishly warm, you doubt he’s even feeling the cold. You don’t really feel it, yourself, burning inside. Besides, that way you can take your sweet time to admire every detail of his sculpted body—though your eyes keep wandering to one place in specific, hanging heavy between his legs. Perhaps you should have expected it, given the other various body accessories of the kind he sports, but the glint of yet another golden barbell on the bulbous head of his penis catches you entirely by surprise. Through the barrier of clothes, you had not really distinguished it was there before. All at once, you simultaneously wonder how much it must have hurt when he had it done, how it feels for him during sex, and how it might feel moving inside you in time with his powerful thrusts, rubbing against your walls.

The air smells heavily of sweat and sex, of you and him together, and it drives you crazy.

Despite having experimented not one but _two_ unexpected and very satisfying orgasms, you still ache for him, fiercely. Perhaps even more than before. Does it feel so intense for everyone, getting together with their soulmate? The throbbing between your thighs is as much soreness as is pure need, the longing flame lit within your chest calling for his touch. Everything is so new and nearly incomprehensible, you feel quite overwhelmed. As a matter of fact, you never gave much importance to sex up to this moment. People always held it in such high regard that, with the first awakening of your hormones back in the troublesome teenage years, you did indulge yourself in a couple of terrible flings, as you told Guzma, out of curiosity and to spite your parents. Fellow students at the Pokémon Academy that were, like everyone else at that age, eager to make the most of those blessed years of liberty before they graduated and most likely met their destined others. They seemed nice guys at first, full of sweet words and promises, then turned out to be complete selfish assholes as soon as they got in your pants; they took their pleasure, forgoing yours, and made you believe everything you did was embarrassingly wrong. Even if things had happened differently and those had somehow turned out to be good first experiences, you have the hunch they would have paled in comparison anyway. Compared to tonight, to this moment, and to the maddening and confusing and wonderful feelings that have been wrecking your mind over the last couple of months. So, in a way, you are glad everything came to this—to Guzma proving you wrong yet once more, and giving you something precious you didn’t know you had lost. Courage, confidence, self-esteem, and something akin to love that both delights and scares you beyond reason. This is closest you have been to anyone and, for some foolish reason, even with all his wrongdoings, you have come to trust him.

Pressing yourself against his side, you take a deep breath in his scent, weighing the devastating truth behind those thoughts. This, the whole soulmate bond, might have been unceremoniously thrown on your laps by one of those perverse twists of life, but, in a sense, maybe you needed it. Maybe you needed him, all this time, and maybe he needed you as well and things would have been completely different if you had met each other earlier in your lives. Maybe those jagged scars on his back that he never mentions wouldn’t exist, and maybe he wouldn't have felt the need to become a delinquent in order to survive. Be that as it may, you can only play with the cards you have been given and make the most of the present.

Feathery fingertips trace the contour of his long nose, his high cheekbones, his sharp jawline, the hollow of his collarbones, dropping to his chest. You shift your position to place a small kiss there, trailing your open lips along his ribcage to press another one, loving and lasting, right on the infamous mark. It seems to pulse under your lips, greeting your presence with mute keenness, tugging at the invisible string that almost seems to connect your hearts to urge you on. No matter how ridiculous it sounds, you swear you can almost hear it speaking in your mind without words, communicating through the bond. You trace the thin black lines with the tip of your tongue and Guzma groans quietly, still out cold in blissful exhaustion, but he starts writhing under your mouth ever so slightly as you continue committing the dips and curves of your name to memory with your tongue on his skin.

A half-moan escapes his open mouth as your lips move their affections to the nearby nipple. It pebbles under your warm breath, as you lap and suck on the nub. Soon enough, you feel something definitely reacting to your ministrations, coming to rest hard and hot against your thigh.

Encouraged, you give one last playful nip to his nipple, relishing the groan you elicit from his throat, and move to trail wet kisses down his torso, moving down, down, down, following the tantalizing trail of dark hair, until his erection is right in front of your face and you’re straddling his thighs for the second time tonight. Only this time you don’t plan on backing off. Hesitation assaults you for a fleeting second, looking at his sleeping face. It feels kind of wrong doing this with him unconscious, but his hips give a small thrust in the air, as if demanding you to continue.

You take his manhood in your hand, testing the weight and the decadent feel of it, slowly moving your fingers up and down the thick shaft. There is a fat pearl of precum glistening on the tip, beckoning you to have a taste. You give it an experimental, timid lick to gather the moisture. It leaves an odd, slightly salty taste on your tongue, but it’s not entirely unpleasant, and the sheer eroticism of it sends a wave of wetness to your own sex, feeling your mounting arousal dripping down your thighs. Pleased with how Guzma’s breathing grows irregular, your tongue focuses on playing with the ball of the piercing on the head of his cock. Your hand starts stroking him, up and down the velvety heat, as your mouth keeps focusing on the tip, enamoured with how responsive he is under your greedy lips.

Pleased with your work, you decide to the loving torment a step further. Licking a long, wet stripe from his testicles to the first ball of the barbell, you take the flushed head of his dick in your mouth and suck, tasting more of that enticing saltiness, and suddenly a hand descends on your head, tangling in your sweat-dampened tresses. You look up to see Guzma is very much awake, panting and gazing down at you through stormy heavy-lidded eyes. “Fuck, baby. This’s one helluva way to wake up.”

Smiling around his cock, you swirl your tongue around its girth, dragging along the piercing, and earn a hissed curse. Unable to look away from his face, you move further down his shaft, testing how much of his length you can take in your mouth without choking. Slightly disappointed with yourself, thinking about how easy it seemed at the occasional porn video you saw on the internet, you pause when it starts feeling uncomfortable and back down a bit. You settle to using your dominant hand, slick with spit and precum, to stroke him at the same time your mouth bobs up and down the top half, but it seems to do the trick and soon he is thrusting in time with your movements.

Suddenly, his grip on your hair tightens and he hisses: “Wait, wait, wait—I-I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.”

Instead of slowing down, you speed up your stroking, sucking on his head and using the tip of your tongue to play with his piercing, and he loses it. He mutters a litany of “fuck, fuck, fuck” as hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat. As soon as his hold on your head loosens, you withdraw your mouth. Coughing, you swallow his load. Before you can do anything else, he grabs your hands and pulls you up, capturing you in a ravenous kiss, his tongue intruding your mouth to taste himself. A thin thread of saliva joins your lips when you part to get some air. He sweeps it away with his thumb, lingering to stroke along your swollen bottom lip.

“Did I... do it right?”

“You kiddin’?” he laughs breathlessly, leaning to peck your lips. “Babe, you’re… fuckin’ perfect. I know how nervous that made ya, goin’ down on a guy, so… thank you. Really.”

“I, uh, actually enjoyed doing it. I’d like to try again someday, learn to take all of you in my mouth?”

“You’re killin’ me here, doll. Fuck yes, we’ll work on that. But now it’s your turn.”

He turns you around so that you’re sitting on his lap, your back to his chest. He makes sure you’re comfortable before moving to part your legs, placing them on either side of his in an obscene position that has you blushing furiously. Then he cups your heat with one big hand, the other squeezing a breast and rolling the nipple between his fingers, and all bashfulness disappears. You’re so ridiculously pent up already, it won’t take long. He could probably make you come just whispering dirty words with that husky voice. “Damn. You’re fuckin’ soaked, darlin’,” he says, gathering some of the slickness pooling between your thighs and dragging it upwards to rub circles on your engorged clit. “And so fuckin’ sensitive,” he breathes, nipping your earlobe. “Look at yourself, so fuckin’ beautiful. What the hell did I do to derserve ya?”

“I-I—ahh… I’m so close. Please…”

He growls and you feel more than hear the feral sound, rumbling deep in his chest. “Suckin’ my cock really did a number on ya, huh? Tell me, babygirl, are ya gonna come all over my fingers?”

Nodding feverishly, you gasp a “yesss” as his fingers move faster and faster on your clit, drawing smaller, tighter circles, adding more pressure the way he has learned gives you the most pleasure. You can feel the fire licking at your insides and coiling low in your belly. Within moments, release hits you hot and hard. Mouth falling open in a shuddering moan, you press yourself against his unrelenting hand until your quivering body slumps back against him. He wipes his fingers on your thigh, moving his arms to hug you closer to his chest. Breathing heavily, you stay in his embrace for a while after the euphoria fades, until the angry growl of your stomachs breaks the silence.

“Okay,” he laughs. “Point taken. I’ll go grab us some food.”

He fishes for his sweatpants at the foot of the bed, jumping into them without bothering with underwear and leaves the room, pausing to stare at your shivering, naked form on the bed with a small grin before the door closes.

Suddenly alone and very aware of the stickiness between your legs, you decide it’s time to answer the call of nature and drag yourself to pay a quick visit to the toilet. Washing your hands once you’re done and splashing cold water on your weary face, you barely recognize yourself on the erotic vision that greets your eyes on the cracked bathroom mirror, the fragmented surface reproducing it a thousand times over. Flushed cheeks, swollen reddened lips, dishevelled hair, tired and sated, all in all…, _well-fucked_.  You have never looked more beautiful, you think to yourself, shaking your head in silent amusement.

Everything looks the same when you walk back into the dark room. He hasn’t returned yet and, if the muted music from downstairs is proof enough, the party is still going at full blast. Bright moonbeams seep inside through the windows, lighting the untidy throne room up almost beautifully. Your idle feet carry you there mesmerized by the silver glow, to the far wall, and the sight outside takes the breath out of you for a moment. It had not crossed your mind, that Po Town is cornered against the sea and this part of the mansion overlooked the cliffs on this side of the island. The rainclouds have moved away and all that remains is the ocean, and the moon, and the stars.

The door opens at your back and closes again. “What are ya doin’ standin’ there?”

“Just watching the— _h-hey_ ,” you yelp, feeling him appear out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on top of your head. “Did you know there’s like, a secret cove down there?” you point.

“Yeah, of course I do,” he chuckles, leaning to place kiss on your shoulder, moving up to your neck as his hands make the opposite journey down your naked flesh, slowly stroking down your tummy. “It’s Team Skull’s private beach. Would’ve moved the party there if it wasn’t raining earlier. It has this awesome cave that goes under the island and all, with glowing algae and crazy stuff. I should take you there someday when the tide’s low.”

“Hmmm, I would like that.”

“You know… I think I’ll fuck you here, too, against this window, after I’ve fucked you on my throne,” he whispers on your ear. His hands move up again to cup your breasts. “I wish it faced the city, though, somewhere crowded. That way everyone would see ya, so pretty and wet, cryin’ and beggin’ for my cock.”

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” your breath falters when his fingers start playing with your nipples.

“With you—finally, _finally_ —naked in my room, trembling under my fingers? I’m afraid so, baby.”

He gives a playful tweak to your hardened nubs before taking a step back, taking your hand and tugging you back towards the bed. “But we better put some food in ya before you pass out on me.”

Halfway through the box of cold pizza, he has you pinned against the mattress again, moaning wildly under his skilled mouth. The night goes on like that. You don’t sleep much—short naps in between steamy make-out sessions and heated caresses—and before you know it blinding sunlight replaces the moon.

You groan at the unforgiving brightness that pours inside through the huge windows and makes your head throb achingly, though not as much as your poor, abused pussy. You blink your eyes drowsily until your sight clears fully. Guzma is absent from the bed, but a quick look around the room places him sitting on the makeshift throne with a laptop resting on his legs. Expression stern and deep in thought, his chin rests on a hand, elbow propped on the armrest as he reads through something on the screen. It’s what you have come to dub as “business face”, the one he makes whenever he receives a random phone call and is suddenly forced to cancel a date. Once, you had teased him, half-joking and half-worried, about having a secret girlfriend. He didn't laugh. When he is like this, he looks nothing like the Guzma you have come to know and more like the calculative, big bad man he claims to be. His pensive gaze drifts towards the bed momentarily and a grin tugs at the corner of his lips at seeing you awake and looking around for your clothes.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

With a sigh, he closes the laptop and puts it aside, patting his legs so that you can sit on his lap. Biting your lip, you comply, meeting him halfway for a kiss. “Hmmm, good morning. Just… what time is it?”

“Almost noon. I must’ve really tired ya out last night.”

“You think? I can barely walk.”

“But you _can_ walk, which means I failed on my mission.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you lean down to give a playful nip on his bottom lip. “Is everything alright, by the way? You look really… troubled.”

His whole body stiffens under you, but he waves a hand on the air dismissively. “Yeah, nothin’ much. Just work, ya know. Bein’ the boss is troublesome sometimes.”

“… Alright. But you can tell me if something is bothering you, okay?”

He hums in understanding, but says nothing more.

“You would tell me if there was something wrong, _right_?” you press on. “If you were planning something dangerous.”

He scoffs, deviating his gaze to the side, eyebrow twitching with poorly contained conflicting emotions. “Can we just not talk about that stuff right now?”

“Maybe, if you weren’t so transparent and obviously hinting something is wrong.”

“Nothin’ is wrong, dammit! Just forget it.”

“Look,” you heave a sigh. “If you say so… I’ll believe you. But, honestly, I just want to help. We're kind of in this together.”

His tense expression softens, bringing a hand to caress the side of your face tenderly, almost fearfully. “I know ya want to help, but… nevermind. I don’t want to argue now, of all times. Here, this is for ya.”

He reaches somewhere next to the throne and places something on your open palm. Around the size of a small apple, the round opalescent stone sparkles with blue and white starlight as you hold it on the air to inspect it, eyebrows crooked. “A dawn stone?”

“Yeah, well... It’s been my lucky charm since I was a kid, though it never brought me much luck. I wanted to give you somethin’ special, so… there ya go,” he states awkwardly, an endearing touch of pink to his cheeks. “So that you don’t forget me and stuff.”

“Thank you,” you hold the stone closely to your chest. “But how could I ever forget you, silly? I can literally feel your heart beating from a hundred miles away. You drive me crazy every moment of every waking hour.”

“Well, at least I’m good at somethin’.”

“Puh-lease, you’re good at multiple somethings. I checked, last night.”

“Perhaps ya could help refresh my memory?” his breath ghosts over your neck, sending shivers along your skin.

“Oh, gods…”

After an improvised breakfast of stolen kisses and more cold pizza, he walks you to the other end of Ula’ula Meadow hand in hand, then bids you goodbye with a lingering touch of his lips to yours that has your knees going weak all over again. Showing much more self-restrain than you thought you possessed, you eventually force yourself away from him before the two of you go at it behind the bushes like animals in heat, because you have a feeling that's exactly what he had in mind.

 

* * *

 

The following days feel extremely dull and empty. Guzma didn’t lie when he said work—or whatever you could call what he does—was demanding more and more of his attention lately. The annoying voice in your head can’t help but worry at the possible implications of that statement. Are they planning on doing something bad? Even though you understand the reticence to discuss such matters with you of all people, self-declared heroine to his villain, the secrecy drives you mad. His personal implication in potentially reprovable matters lessened significantly since you became involved with each other but he still is, in all effects, the leader of Team Skull. Sooner or later, you will have to address that issue and where it lies within your relationship.

Your usually active phone has been so silent, one would think it’s broken. Bored to death and growing increasingly frustrated, you try to remember how you kept yourself busy before becoming involved with Guzma, so you focus on training with your pokémon, who you feel have been somewhat neglected as of late. Acerola has several trials scheduled throughout the week and Lillie is pouring herself in her study, so you don’t have many options but to be responsible for the first time in nearly a fortnight, thinking even on looking for the kahuna of the island to move forward on your challenge. Eevee finally evolves during a late training session, into a magnificent Umbreon with lush black fur and eerily bright red eyes. He seems comfortable enough with his new identity, though now he sleeps through the day and wakes up at dusk full of energy, so as of late you have been going out on night runs to wear him out before heading to bed. You spend a fair amount of time training at the beach with Wimpod, as well, in part because you miss Guzma terribly.

Seven days after the eventful party, the strained bond and the lack of real communication with your soulmate has you feeling uncomfortably restless—almost sick.  The mark itches all the time, demanding attention, trying to drag you to his side, and sleeping restfully has become impossible. But, even if he claims to miss you in the few messages he sends, he makes it clear he barely has time to breathe these days. However concerned you are, you begrudgingly respect his personal space, not wanting to result irritating. It becomes a bit more difficult each passing day, until it’s unbearable. After spending all morning training on the beach, by afternoon you can’t stand it anymore and run all the way to Route 17.

Only to find the gates to Po Town closed, and no one there to answer. Confused, you use Skarmory’s assistance to take a peek over the wall and find the place is deserted.

“… Weird.”

Guzma doesn’t answer your calls and his phone apparently can’t receive your messages either, wherever he is. You wish you had asked for some of the grunts’ numbers, but it’s unlikely most of them own phones living like they do. Frustrated and dejected, you turn around and moodily retrace your steps down the cobblestone road. Nanu walks out of the police station almost at the same time you reach the solitary building, stopping in his tracks when he sees you. “You came looking for me?”

Frowning, you reply. “Looking for you? No, I was… Why is the town all abandoned and locked down?”

“So you didn’t hear,” he sighs wearily. “Acerola just called. Something happened.”

The lack of real information in his answer has your skin crawling with apprehension but somehow you doubt he will give a straight response. Every question you make on your way back to the Aether House, the old policeman blatantly ignores. The disconcerted frown doesn’t leave your face, only deepening as the itching on your ribs seems to grow more persistent as well. Scratching the mark only makes the burning more prominent, and you actually have to dig your nails in the palm of your hands to refrain from doing so. What is going on? Is Guzma alright?

But the nagging foreboding that something is terribly wrong is confirmed the moment you step inside the building. It’s been only half a day since you left to train but somehow the air inside feels completely different. There is something off. Hau, sitting in a corner, appears to be in shock, and Acerola is pacing around the lobby, on the verge of tears.

Distraught, the purple-haired girl runs to your side as soon as you walk through the door and starts speaking incoherently. “It’s terrible! They… just… We couldn’t… She…”

“Calm down. It’s okay, Ace— _breathe in, breathe out_ , like that;” you put your hands on her narrow shoulders, rubbing her upper arms until her breathing stops coming so fast and jagged. “Now, what happened?”

“She’s gone! Team Skull came when you were out and… that pink-haired girl… They’ve taken Lillie!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Last edited 14/03/17 - fixed some typos and tried to improve some parts of the text.]


	11. Would You Tear My Castle Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You pursue Lillie's kidnappers all the way to Aether Paradise, where the happy world you've built with Guzma is torn apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And would you tear my castle down  
> Stone by stone  
> And let the wind run through my windows  
> 'Til there is nothing left but a battered rose."  
> Castle Down, by Emilie Autumn
> 
>  
> 
> I have a nasty habit of finishing and publishing chapters late at night when I'm all sleepy and tired, so I hope there aren't many mistakes.  
> In case you didn't see, I edited last chapter to improve some parts. I'll probably read through this one and correct things, too, because I'm that obnoxious. Sorry.  
> Hope you don't hate me too much after this angst fest.

A white boat cuts swiftly through the sea, parting the waters like a steadfast arrow pointing westwards in a race against the setting sun. The cold spray of salty water splashes your face and arms as you grip onto the bow railings with white knuckles. Deafening static fills your head, a thousand screams overlapping and impeding any clear thought—you can only replay the happening of the last couple of hours over and over again like an unstoppable broken record—and adding a splitting headache to the persistent burning on your ribs. The angry scratch marks your fingernails have carved over the already aching letters make the unexplainable agony all the worse. Something is seriously wrong with yourself. The closer you get to the growing dot on the horizon the sicker you feel, unpleasant waves of nausea swirling in your stomach, and it’s hard to say whether it’s the motion of the vessel or something else entirely gnawing at your insides, the ominous foreboding you just can’t shake.

Your eyes, glassy with unshed tears, are fixed on the approaching silhouette of Aether Paradise, an ivory tower standing tall and proud in the middle of the ocean, while you try to block Gladion’s voice telling Hau about his mother’s slow descent into madness. Despite having connected the dots of their parentage a long time ago, hearing out loud about Lillie’s and Lusamine’s true identity in regards with the enigmatic blonde boy is kind of shocking.

He arrived at the crime scene almost at the same time as Nanu and you, furious and blaming you lot of her little sister’s kidnapping, after you had sworn to protect her from evil not that long ago. If only you weren’t already blaming yourself for _everything_. Guilt rang in your ears along a thousand upsetting realizations. Confused and hurt, his accusation annoyed you more than it would have in different circumstances and you ended up engaging in a battle right then and there. Replaying the scene now, in hindsight, you realize he reminds you of Guzma somewhat, as they usually follow the same method to deal with problems—attacking first, then asking—and you were meeting his wrath with your own resentment, out of need to settle things with the white-haired man whose soul was tied to yours. Nevertheless, his demeanour calmed significantly after letting off all that steam and it became clear he was there to help, not to make the delicate situation at hand even more complicated.

Then you had to fight Nanu as well, nearly immediately after. It was evident, from the beginning, that he was no ordinary guy living in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of cats but you wouldn’t have expected his actual position. The old policeman turned out to be the kahuna of Ula’ula Island. As such, he demanded a proof of your value before trusting you the lead of the rescue expedition, as you were too anxious to wait for the region authorities to be informed and take action. It would be hours before they responded, least of all addressed the problem and did something about it, and who knew what would have happened by that time if you just sat on your asses and did nothing. This was unprecedented for Alola—one the most influential companies of the region, known and respected worldwide, partaking in illegal and dangerous affairs. Being native to Kanto, maybe you possess a little more experience on that front, having lived through the Team Rocket fiasco and its nasty aftermath. Be that as it may, the stern kahuna seemed convinced enough by your skills and helped in procuring a boat, sending you three to retrieve Lillie while he contacted the professor and the other captains.

 “Just like Null, I was raised—crafted—to become the perfect weapon in her mad quest to find and dominate the Ultra Beasts. You saw one of them. They’re… not from this world, at all. I couldn’t stand it anymore, being treated like that. I tried to save all the specimens from the lab, but could only take one out of three before the guards found me,” he explains, the deepening frown creating an unbecoming schism between his eyebrows. “I didn’t even know Lillie had also left until I saw her with you. And, as for stealing Cosmog like that… I take it, why she did it, but it was stupid. That made her a target for, well, everyone. It’s by pure luck and your constant presence by her side that she wasn’t taken before, I bet.”

“So you knew Team Skull was working for Aether, and that they wanted Lillie?” asks Hau.

He sighs. “Well… yes and no. They had some sort of deal going on, though I’m not sure for how long.”

“You know? I didn’t really understand why Team Skull kept assaulting Lillie. She’s no trainer and she has virtually no money either. There was something missing, but I see it now,” you intercede, gaze lost on the horizon. “They were working for someone else all this time. Someone smarter, more wicked, and more powerful. A pokémon like _Nebby_ is hardly of use for a group of runaway adolescents struggling to survive in the streets but, your mother, on the other hand… I knew there was something odd about her, that day she invited us to see her _Paradise_ ,” you spit the word out with contempt. “We saw only what she wanted us to see. She made the right questions and obtained the precise answers she wanted to hear. And all this time we thought they were the good guys. I’ve been so blind.”

No, you had _chosen_ to be blind to it all, pretending everything had magically changed just because you had accepted Guzma as your soulmate and that somehow nullified everything else, even the metaphysical forces of good and evil. Team Skull wasn’t all that bad but they _were_ bad to some extent—they stole pokémon and hurt innocent people, they had occupied Po Town by force and broken the law innumerable times. They were criminals. Nobody took them seriously, yet everybody complained about having them around because the gang actually meant trouble for those around them. Of course, you can understand the motives behind their petty delinquency acts and can’t bring yourself to condemn them too roughly, but the truth is what it is.

All this time, you have been deceiving yourself and Guzma has been lying to you, too, by omission. This “out of sight, out of mind” policy you had based your relationship upon had been a necessity to work on your bond without external factors but it had been seriously irresponsible. Ignoring something won’t make it disappear. However, over those blissful weeks you had honestly, naïvely, thought maybe he was starting to change his ways. Time after time, you had attempted to talk him out of Team Skull’s questionable ways—there was no need to keep living like that, you told him; if it was a simple matter of money you could help them for a little while, and Kukui would surely offer a helping hand in whatever he could assist—but he always became livid and ended up throwing something against the wall or storming out of the room. _Survivin’ ain'_ _t that easy for us all,_ he snarled, slamming the door closed. You thought it was some sort of childish pride what impeded him from accepting that alternative. If only you had paid closer attention to the signals, to what Plumeria said, to how he paled and stuttered at the trifling jokes of having another woman in his life…  The truth had been there, within your reach. Still, you would have never thought Lusamine was the missing piece on that imaginary chessboard you had set within your mind. The cold, ruthless Queen manipulating the King and his pawns.

“They’re not the bad guys,” you flinch at hearing Gladion’s voice cutting right through your thoughts, the boy coming to lean against the metal railing beside you. “Not all of them, both Aether and Skull. There’s people within the foundation who doesn’t approve of my mother’s late activities, and as for Team Skull…I was completely lost after leaving home, you see. I didn’t know where to go, what to do besides striving to grow stronger, but those guys offered me a place in their ranks. Not even as a fighter,” he softly chuckles. “Plumeria just found me in a forsaken road, miserable and covered in dirt, and said they had food and a bed if I wanted them. Months later, I learned about why they stole pokémon.”

“For your mother.”

“… Yeah.”

You sigh. “I know they’re not all bad. Damn, I’ve been telling that to everyone. They’re misunderstood kids with a tragic past or family problems, with no place in society, in need of a purpose and comprehension. I’ve gotten to know them. I’ve even fall—,” you trail off, clutching your chest. “That’s why it hurts so much, learning they’ve been the muscle behind this disaster. I feel like such a fool.”

“Guzma didn’t tell you about Aether.”

“Not a word,” you murmur. “And for some reason I didn’t think of asking about the source of their income, how he was able to feed and dress a hundred teenagers. It was convenient, ignoring those small details. It was selfish. It’s my fault.”

“For what it’s worth…, I’m sorry. And I don’t think it’s your fault.” Hesitantly, he places a hand on your shoulder and gives it a brief, re-assuring squeeze before stepping back, obviously feeling awkward.

Hau looks at your heartfelt albeit clumsy exchange like a confused Lillipup. He is mostly oblivious to the whole soulmate issue, so half of what you just said probably caught him by surprise. Still, you don’t want to entrust all that second-handed emotional load onto him. He is a sweet, carefree boy that only wants to enjoy life, who loathes conflict and can barely stand the pressure of being a kahuna’s grandson. He deserves to know, but you will explain everything in another occasion, when Lillie is safe and you don’t feel like a dead person walking. Hopefully, it will be soon.

 

* * *

 

Clicking your tongue in a displeased grimace, you carefully spray a superpotion on Primarina. Her tail flails uneasily on the air as she endures the sting of the antiseptic on the open wounds earned in that last fight. You feed her a couple of her favourite pokébeans to show your gratitude for the tremendous effort she’s making. It’s been a pokémon battle after another today and you are starting to run low on both energy and healing supplies. But, this is it, you have finally reached the final level of the tower.

As if to honour Gladion’s earlier statement, some of the Aether workers you have come across upon your arrival at the artificial island didn’t blindly support their president and let you through. Most notably, that sweet lady, Wicke, and those under her command, seem loyal to the foundation’s young heir more than to Lusamine. Then again, numerous others like the arrogant branch chief, Faba, have presented a rather cumbersome resistance. He made sure to hinder your progress as much as possible, going as far as obstructing the controls of the elevator. You have been forced to battle against him and his lackeys three times already in the expanse of only one hour, so you seriously hope he is out of pokémon for good this time.

For the purpose of going upwards, precisely because of his bothersome intervention, you had to explore the laboratories in the basement floor. For a while, you got separated from Gladion, as he wanted to check on the remaining specimens of Type: Null alone in the secret lab. It was an emotional issue, so you allowed him some personal time. After clearing the rest of rooms from combative workers in the meantime, you proceeded to look for useful information in their classified archives with Hau’s assistance.

 _They seriously shouldn’t have left all those computers unguarded without a password_ , you thought, eyes shining with delight at the dozens of files that appeared on the screen.

“Did you find something useful?” asked Gladion upon reuniting with you both in the once more thankfully operable elevator.

“I only understood half of what I read but, I take it, _Nebby_ isn’t a normal pokémon?” said Hau.

“No, certainly. Cosmog might not even be a type of pokémon, as we know them,” you elaborated, still processing everything you read in those classified documents. “Lusamine thinks it’s an Ultra Beast, from another world—like the creature we saw the last time we were here. Apparently, its name is Nihilego and it’s more dangerous than it seems. I don’t even know how she found out about all this, to begin with, but she plans on using Cosmog to open a wormhole to that other dimension.”

Gladion shook his head unhappily. “Tsk. There’s nothing left to do down here. I went to retrieve Null’s siblings but they improved the security after the last time. I’ll come back for them, when we’re done upstairs. For now… let’s go.”

Taking a deep breath, you look at the doors that lead to the preservation area, the highest level of the tower. You have come this far and you can barely stand on your feet, weakened to the point of delirious exhaustion by unknown forces trying to tear you apart. The burning on your ribcage throbs in time with your ragged heartbeat and the pounding on your temples, tears stinging your eyes for countless different reasons—pain, trepidation, fatigue. You have never felt sicker. To say you’re frightened of what you might find at the other side of those doors is an understatement. Gladion gives your shoulder another comforting squeeze, sensing your suffering, and together the three of you push the gates open.

The entirety of Team Skull seems to be here, black and white uniformed people scattered all around the artificial garden. They turn to look at you newcomers with wary frowns, those who doesn’t have their pokémon out reaching for their pokéballs. Your heart drops slightly at seeing Chelsea and Zack guarding one of the passageways, but the pink-haired girl looks just as conflicted as you do, sending an apologetic gaze your way. This isn’t even their fight. They probably know nothing about Lusamine’s lunatic scheme.

A pang of searing pain pierces through your chest. Stifling a whimper, you follow the sensation of sheer distraught as it draws your gaze across the central bridge that crosses through the makeshift jungle and leads to the big building on the other side. Even through the distance, your weary eyes somehow meet Guzma’s as he stands guarding the entrance along Golisopod with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. He looks every ounce as miserable as you do, underneath the imposing presence innate to his height and posture. The ever-present shadows on his face seem even more prominent than the last time you saw him, dark circles swallowing the beautiful paleness of his eyes, and he is clearly wincing in pain, just like you are, because of whatever the bond is trying to tell you both.

_Stop. Stop. Stop._

_Fix this._

_Don’t…_

Making your way to the other side of the rooftop is easy enough, disregarding the grunts entirely while your companions take care of them. But facing him like this—like an enemy, again, after everything you have gone through—feels like the hardest thing you have done in your entire life.

“You shouldn’t be here, dammit,” his voice sounds hoarser than usual and, at the same time soft, pained.

“Guzma,” your own voice comes out as a broken sob as you resist the impulse, the raw need, to reach your hand out and just… touch him, tangle your fingers in his hair, kiss his face, feel the heat of his skin and let yourself get lost in his embrace as he tells you everything is going to be alright. But you can’t, because something’s terribly wrong. “Why are you doing this? How could you kidnap my friend? And you’ve been working for that woman all this time? I-I thought… How could you not tell me…”

The sardonic smirk that splits his visage holds no humour. No real emotion, really, besides unfathomable sadness. If he truly can feel the same as you do, then he must be dying inside because your heart is breaking. “I told ya, didn’t I? Bein’ boss ain’t pretty sometimes. I told ya… There were things, big plans, long before you came along. I told ya it was damn inconvenient, to meet ya now, but I _couldn’t_ stay away from ya. But I’ve worked too hard to allow anyone to ruin this. I had to do it. I have to…”

“No!” you intercede. “It’s you who doesn’t get it—you don’t have to do anything! You don’t have to blindly follow orders from someone like her. I told you I would help you—why can’t you just… trust me? Please, stop this nonsense. _Please_ … It hurts!“

“I know it fuckin’ hurts,” he looks on the verge of tears, which only frightens you further. “But you don’t get it, princess—I _can’t_. I can’t back down.”

“Then, just… let me through. Please. I must stop this. I have to save Lillie.”

Golisopod goes to stand in front of his trainer, clicking his jaws threateningly, but Guzma stops the huge bug pokémon with an angry shake of his head. “I can’t fight ya again. I c-can’t… Go. Just fuckin’ go.”

Holding back tears, you ran past them, feeling your soul shattering with each heavy stride. Everything that ensues the moment you leave him behind seems like an unreal, angry blur.

You burst into the building, supporting your unsteady weight against the wall to avoid falling as the angry headache flares, and catch the president and Lillie by surprise in the middle of a private conversation. Now that Lusamine’s perfect mask has been broken, she has no need to keep showing herself as the poised, kind-hearted woman she wanted the world to believe. The cruel sneer that twists her porcelain features as she speaks is bloodcurdling, although not more than the malicious words she spits to her own daughter. Seeing the expression of utter wretchedness on Lillie’s face, you can barely refrain yourself from punching the woman right then and there before she disappears using the teleporter in the back of the room.

Following her is out of the question but, first, you turn to Lillie and hug the dazed girl closely to your chest—suppressing a hiss of pain. She is shaking like a leaf, holding onto your shirt like a lifeline. “Thank you so much for coming after me, b-but _Nebby_ … It’s still in danger. My mother is planning something horrible! We have to do something!”

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” you shush her. “I didn’t come here alone, and together, all of us… we’re going to make this right. The authorities must know what’s happening by now, and I bet the professor is already on his way.”

“O-okay… I was just so scared. But I feel better with you here.”

Together, you step into the teleporting platform. You grip her hand tight at the feeling of vanishing, every atom and cell of your body becoming light as a feather then heavy again when you abruptly materialize somewhere else. That sensation is something you’ll probably never grow used to. The little trip leaves you feeling even more lightheaded and you have to use Lillie’s assistance to remain upright. Your body seems to slowly be losing energy, as if the bond was consuming you from inside—it's alive and it isn’t happy. This is no ordinary ailment at all. It’s your own feelings clashing with Guzma’s feelings in a tempestuous and painful conflict inside your heart, and the bodiless screams of the bond echoing against the walls of your skull. It’s violent and intense and absolutely horrifying. You can’t even tell how much you’ll be able to stay conscious, at this rate, but you won’t allow yourself to pass out just yet.

 _They need you_.

“You came. Well, what do you think about my private collection? It lacks lustre, next to my beasts but… it will last for eternity.”

Words cannot capture the horror that grips your insides at the sight that awaits at the other side of the gate. Dozens of pokémon frozen in columns of some clear substance akin to ice, used as decoration of Lusamine’s private quarters. You realize, feeling increasingly sick, that these must be the pokémon Team Skull stole for the Aether Foundation. The twisted woman calls them her precious trophies and invites you to admire them, proudly standing in the middle of the white room with the black metallic box that contains _Nebby_ clutched reverently in her hands. Feeling the arm around your shoulders growing tense, you see Lillie growing disturbingly pale. At hearing the deranged president talk about those Ultra Beasts, you can clearly perceive she is beyond human reason—that she must have been, for a long while, lost in those illusions of reaching another dimension.

“Stop this madness, mother!” Exhaling in relief, you turn around with a grateful smile to see Gladion and Hau running into the room. “You mustn’t open the Ultra Wormhole. You cannot let the beasts run wild!”

“Oh, look what we have here. The daughter who stole Cosmog from my hands and the son who took one of my treasured Type: Null! I gave you all the love I had, tried to make you into my beautiful and powerful heirs, and you dared _betray_ me! You have no right to demand anything of me now! And… heh, of course, you’ve make friends with the annoying girl who almost ruined everything. I admit you’re a strong trainer and I thought you had potential. And then, it sounded so stupid I didn’t want to believe it... My dear Guzma’s soulmate, is it? Such foolishness. The only love that matters is the everlasting one that transcends dimensions, true power, and soon it will be mine! I’ll be unstoppable.”

“No, stop!” Lillie begs, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You don’t understand what will happen if _Nebby_ uses up too much of its power! The night we ran away… It couldn’t even move for ages after that. If you do this, it will die! Please… _mom_.”

“I told you, child—no ungrateful ugly girl is a daughter of mine!” she hisses. “Now, come forth, my sweet beasts!”

If what she says it’s true, the wormhole that tore the sky the last time you were in the Paradise was the result of an accident in the laboratories downstairs, when the scientists were running testing the gases they had managed to extract from Cosmog. It had been weak and short-lived, and yet one of those strange creatures had crossed through to this world long enough as to pose a serious menace.

Lusamine holds the black box above her head and actives the mechanism, the object becoming engulfed in a shimmering blue glow that shoots up to the skies in a searing pillar of light that explodes on the air, hitting everyone in the room with a shock wave that rattles the research instruments and knocks you off your feet, helplessly thrown several feet away on the cold marble floor. The portal that opens is massive, bigger than the last one and, by the time you crawl back to your unsteady feet, the same jellyfish-like creature you faced last time comes forth from the other side of the trans-dimensional gate, emitting an eerie giggle-like sound that sends ominous chills down your spine. The computers start beeping like crazy, and you can see several red dots appearing on a big map of the islands—more and more portals opening, more Ultra Beasts pouring through everywhere, all over the region.

“No…”

The signal of the teleport being used is lost in the commotion. A pallid Guzma walks into the collection room with slow, wobbly steps, gazing up at the wormhole with a grin that still won’t reach his suddenly dull, dark eyes. “Woah, Madame Prez… So, the experiment was a success, huh? Time to catch ourselves some wicked beasts. Show everyone who’s boss.”

“Oh, Guzma, right in time,” the blonde woman coos, tapping her chin with a long and perfectly manicured finger. The tone of her voice, dripping with sickeningly false sweetness, makes you grit your teeth. “Get rid of these annoying children for me, will you?”

He clenches his jaw, struggling to keep his gaze on the wormhole, avoiding your pleading and hurtful eyes. “Is it really necessary? C’mon, we got what we wanted.”

“Are you growing soft on me, now, deary? Sentiment making you _weak_? Don’t disappoint me now!”

“Shut up! Just. Shut. Up. You… poisonous bitch,” you bellow, surprising everyone and yourself. “Shut your mouth and leave them all alone! You’ve made Lillie and Gladion suffer enough. They deserve so much more than a mother like you! I don’t even want to know what you promised Guzma in order to take advantage of Team Skull. He is far stronger than you believe. Everyone, pawns in your sick little game, right? You don’t deserve any of them! This plan you’ve woven is crazy. _You_ are crazy. Put an end to this before it’s too late!”

“Insolent little vermin,” she snarls, reaching for the pokéballs in the elegant belt cinched around her waist. Gathering whatever strength is left in you, your mind reacts purely on instinct, throwing your pokémon on her. Behind you, Gladion and Hau also start fighting against the Ultra Beast and Guzma respectively.

Unable to stand the physical and mental exhaustion anymore, you fall to your knees the moment her Bewear is down, the battle over. Lusamine’s face turns downright scary then, gripping one of her pokéballs so hard you would expect the sphere to crack under the pressure. “How… how can you be so awful! All I want is to be happy with my precious Nihilego—nothing else matters!” She turns towards the glowing portal, which light is suddenly blinking and fading slightly in time with the defeated beast at Null’s feet. “No, you can’t disappear now!” she shrieks. “That stupid thing wasn’t even powerful enough to summon a lasting wormhole. Change of plans! We’ll follow them to the other side. Guzma—we’re leaving!”

 “Yes, ma’am,” he answers, curt and obedient.

The injured beast floats back to the other side of the wormhole and Lusamine quickly follows, running after it. Guzma starts walking towards the closing wormhole, pausing briefly in front of it, downtrodden, resigned to some sort of fate you can’t begin to comprehend. His shoulders are shaking.

“Guzma?” you call in disbelief, reaching a hand towards him, lips quivering, eyes imploring. “Don’t do this.”

“… Sorry, princess.”

Guzma steps through the portal and the shimmering blue lights disappear along with him, thus sealing the passage. The scream that tears itself from your throat sounds hardly human. Then, everything fades to black.


	12. A Funeral in My Brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,  
> And Mourners to and fro  
> Kept treading - treading - till it seemed  
> That Sense was breaking through -
> 
> And when they all were seated,  
> A Service, like a Drum -  
> Kept beating - beating - till I thought  
> My mind was going numb -
> 
> And then I heard them lift a Box  
> And creak across my Soul  
> With those same Boots of Lead, again,  
> Then Space - began to toll,
> 
> As all the Heavens were a Bell,  
> And Being, but an Ear,  
> And I, and Silence, some strange Race,  
> Wrecked, solitary, here -
> 
> And then a Plank in Reason, broke,  
> And I dropped down, and down -  
> And hit a World, at every plunge,  
> And Finished knowing - then –“  
> I Felt a Funeral in My Brain, by Emily Dickinson
> 
>  
> 
> First of all, I'm terribly sorry about the delay. Somehow, it's being 35 days (!!) since the last update. I feel awful, really. (╯︵╰,)  
> I hope this chapter rewards your patience.  
> I've been writing research papers for my classes nonstop over the last month so I didn't have the time or the energy to work on this story. If for some reason this situation repeats itself, I'll most likely announce the delay on Tumblr.
> 
> I'm planning on writing new fanfiction, too - at least one more Guzma story and something for the FFXV fandom - but know that this one isn't over yet and I won't abandon it. I've already come to terms with the idea of editing the whole story once it's finished, as well, as I write on the go and it has a lot of mistakes I'd like to remedy.
> 
> Oh, and last but not least... habemus (lovely and amazing) fanart!: [HERE](https://fightingmonsterswithwords.tumblr.com/post/159762201130/mintsdraws-mmmm-i-was-inspired-by) ❤

Black.

Everywhere.

Dark and dense, like a restrictive blanket tightly wrapped around your head, shrouding the world away from your sight.

It feels as if you have been floating adrift in this stagnant, dark ocean, for an eternity—seeing nothing but shadows, hearing nothing but incomprehensible echoes, feeling nothing aside from the cold seeping through your skin and pooling in your very bones.

You call out for someone, anyone, to help you, but your voice reverberates against invisible walls. Not even memories will come to keep you company in the fathomless void.

Every now and then, you almost see someone in the eye of your mind, a blur of black and white and grey shaped like a man, but it runs away from you in a never-ending race amidst the dancing shadows. You feel so lonely here, so frightened, so cold, that you try to follow him until he disappears like smoke time after time.

He always disappears.

And you always cry.

But you don’t understand.

Why do you feel so… _hollow_?

The shadows come to whisper cruel hushed words in your ear, almost sweetly, with their thousand voices. Their tiny, vicious claws sink in your body trying to drag you down to the abyss.

_He **left** you._

Who?

_He is **gone**._

**_No_ ** _. Not gone. Just not… here._

 **_Lost_ ** _._

What are you talking about?

s   o   r   r   y

In the darkness, you see silver grey eyes.

They are beautiful.

One blink, and they are gone.

You remember.

“Guzma.”

You wake with a gasp—his name—that feels like drawing your first breath, eyes fluttering open to see white walls. There’s a flurry of voices and movement that doesn’t really reach your perception through the haze. Beeping machines. Steps. Shouts. Someone running out of the room, door slamming open against the wall. You blink, vacantly, struggling to take in your surroundings through the thick veil of apathy clouding your mind.

There is something missing. Something important. As if someone had brutally ripped your heart out of your chest, leaving a gaping, bloody hole behind that cannot be filled. You should be afraid, probably, but it’s almost like you cannot experiment normal emotions. As if part of you had been left behind in that dead, dark world.

“Can you hear us? Do you know who I am?” Snapping out of the reverie, you blink and lift your gaze to see Professor Burnet standing by the bed, looming over you with a deep concerned frown. Her presence confuses you greatly. It has been months since the last time you saw or even spoke to the woman. Then you see Lillie is standing behind her, in the threshold of the disturbingly white room, eyes reddened and swollen with tears as she holds onto Professor Kukui’s arm for comfort. You don’t like the way they’re looking at you, full of a mournful sympathy that is all sorts of unnerving. Gazing back at the fair-haired scientist, you slowly nod in affirmation. “That’s a good sign, I guess”, she breathes, relieved. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

Finding the right words proves to be problematic, not really knowing how to describe the mental situation you are enduring right now. “… Empty.”

The Professor’s frown deepens into a sad grimace and Lillie sobs loudly, much to your growing confusion.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

She ignores the question. “Do you remember what happened before you lost consciousness? Please, take your time. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

It seems a simple enough demand—remembering—but it proves to be a hard, challenging test. Your head hurts like it’s about to split open, picking up all the pieces of the puzzle and trying to connect them.

“I returned to the House and something bad had happened. Then we were in a boat, I think. Everything hurt. I remember lots of fighting, lots of people in white. And…” You want to scream—scream his name until your throat is raw and you have no voice left. You clench your teeth, fighting the urge, and blood pools on your tongue. “So much pain.”

The beeping of the machines grow louder in time with the agitation. You are gripping the sheets so hard, the fabric is tearing.

“Darling…” Professor Kukui starts, conveying a silent message to his wife.

“I know,” she sighs sombrely.

“I’m taking Lillie to eat something,” he announces, pulling the crying girl out of the room.

“Please, tell me what’s going on. I can’t really… recall all the details.”

She drags a chair from the adjacent room next to the bed, closes the door and sits down, prying your fingers off the bedsheet to take them between hers. Their warmth is welcome, chasing away the cold. “We’re in Heahea’s Pokémon Center. It’s only normal that you don’t remember because… you have been in a coma for three days.”

She squeezes your hand.

“… What?”

“In truth, you can’t understand how lucky you are, sweetie. As far as I’m concerned about the situation, you should be _dead_ ”, she says. “Your friends told us you were feeling sick for a long time before the confrontation and that your… _significant other_ didn’t look so well either, back at the Paradise. Is all of that true?”

“I-I guess so. I was feeling a bit under the weather since… earlier that day, maybe longer. I don’t know.” Trying to think about anything hurts, but trying to think about him hurts the most. Deep inside. “Does it matter?”

“I’d say so,” the woman sighs once more. “I brought over some of the equipment we have in the Dimensional Research Laboratory and ran every test I could think of while you were comatose. I’m no expert in this ailments but I’ve heard all kind of stories related to soul bonds in my life, and, well, my fears were confirmed. Like I said, it could certainly be worse but you’re in a very dire position right now, sweetie—you’re suffering from a severely strained bond. The measuring was very, very weak. For all we know, the connection might break soon. When a soulmate dies, the bond ceases to exist on its own. It's a natural process. But cruelly severing that sacred cord before its time, it's an awful thing.”

“So… you’re saying I’m going to die.”

“Not necessarily,” she hurries to clarify. “Look, you’re a big girl so I’m not going to sugar-coat this—you _could_ die but, right here and now, you are alive and that’s a great indication that I may be wrong. My theory is the bond started suffering the moment your soulmate derived to activities that would hurt you, knowingly. The police has shared a public report of the happenings in Aether and we heard about Guzma’s implication. The sudden sickness was the bond trying to warn you both somehow but, well, bonds can be very confusing—especially if the covenant between mates is not sealed, which I guess is the case. The moment he crossed that wormhole he disappeared from this dimension, so the cord should have been severed. But, miraculously, it persisted. The readings showed a debilitated pulse, growing weaker by the hour but still fighting to reach its partner across time and space.”

You feel like you should be angry, shocked, scared—but you find yourself unable to express it. “So you’re saying that I should feel thankful because it could have been worse, despite feeling… _like this_?”

“No, deary, I’m telling you to have hope. Because this means he’s still alive.”

 

* * *

 

The Pokémon Centre becomes your temporary home for the long, gruesome weeks that follow. You are never alone, though, locked in your tower. Professor Burnet is always close nearby, running tests to check on the bond’s condition, and the nurses barely leave you alone even when you have to visit the bathroom.

Every night without exception the wicked shadows come back stronger, in that realm of darkness, seeking to drag you down to the bottomless abyss. Their malicious whispers haunt your dreams and plague your thoughts upon waking up from the nightmare. Night after night you chase after a phantom Guzma but you can never reach him. After several nights of jolting awake, trembling and drenched in cold sweat, you resort to avoiding sleeping altogether and drinking unhealthy amounts of caffeine to stay awake.

Free from the annoying restrictions that hold you down by day, you take to roaming the streets of Heahea in the dead of the night with Umbreon by your side when everyone else is in bed and the city is silent as a graveyard. Your feet carry you to the waterfront more often than not, where you spend hours staring at the glistening reflection of the stars on the infinite extension of the ocean.

But the fairy lights stir no emotion inside you.

And the hole in your chest grows a little bigger every day.

 

* * *

 

Lillie visits you every afternoon. She sits with you in your hospital room for hours, more often than not in complete silence, sometimes reading a book out loud or attempting to make small conversation about trivial things. A couple of times, she comes accompanied by a crestfallen Hau or by an uncharacteristically taciturn Acerola and the nurses allow you to take a walk around the city. Professor Kukui appears to retrieve the girl at dusk. He never smiles nowadays.

Honestly, you appreciate the companionship and how they desperately try to make you forget about the wretched chaos that is your inner world at the moment, but the thick cloud of sadness and sympathy that surrounds them is seriously infuriating. Not even your pokémon manage to inspire some notion of happiness.

But Lillie never gives up.

One day, you question why she does that to herself when she’s obviously suffering seeing you like this.

“It’s just… I don’t want you to suffer the same fate as my mother,” she cries.

“What do you mean?”

“Mom… she wasn’t always like that. She wasn’t always a monster,” she says, more softly, and you remember Gladion’s tragic tale that day in the boat. “We were a normal family once but everything sort of went downhill when Dad disappeared. He was the first scientist ever to confirm the existence of the Ultra Wormholes and the Ultra Beasts, you see. Maybe you heard about him—his name was Mohn.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she continues. “He became so invested in his research that he worked nearly twenty-four hours a day trying to find a way to reach those other dimensions. I don’t know if he created _Nebby_ in that lab or if he managed to summon it from another world somehow, but at last he succeeded.”

“He opened a portal to another world,” you conclude.

“Yes. And he disappeared at the other side, before he could make his discovery public. All that was left were his papers and weak, frightened _Nebby_. My mom changed because he lost her soulmate, j-just like… you. Our family was broken along with her heart. She became obsessed with the Ultra Wormholes because of she wanted Dad back, at first, but eventually it evolved into something else. Something… dark.”

A mutter tumbles out of your lips. “ _Shadows_.”

Silence falls over the room after that.

That evening, she leaves early.

 

* * *

 

For the first time, when you open your eyes to the darkness of the dream realm you are not alone. It’s pretty easy to discern you are dreaming—mainly because Guzma is there, lying beside you on a familiar field of red blossoms, but you cannot feel the tickling of the grass on your skin nor smell the sickeningly sweet scent of the flowers. Alarmed, you find yourself incapable of moving your body, not even your head to look at him, but the familiar warmth of his hand is grasping yours and you can almost hear him talking. It’s the copy of a memory, like a water-stained photography with black spots lapping at the edges.

But just like it came to be, everything comes to an end, and suddenly the meadow vanishes underneath your weight and you plunge into the void screaming. Desperate, you reach for his hand, but the shadow of Guzma disintegrates as well like dust in the wind and you fall, fall, fall.

_Into the darkness._

Like so many times before, you wake up abruptly in the middle of a panic attack, wheezing and fighting to breathe. It keeps getting worse, every night, and you’re not sure how long you will be able to withstand it.

Not bothering with a change of clothes, you wrap a jacket over your pyjamas, put on your boots and leave the dark Pokémon Center behind. You are still shaking badly when you find yourself, unsurprisingly, back in the docks, staring off at the horizon. The caress of the sea breeze is the truest sensation you have felt in days. It brings an inexplicable comfort to your shattered soul. At the very least, for as long as you sit there listening to the restless motion of the waves you’re aware that you’re still alive.

Enthralled by the moment, you don’t hear the sound of footsteps on the cobblestone path until Umbreon starts growling in a very unfriendly manner, the dark fur on his arched back standing on end. Gazing up to the unexpected visitor—unmistakable pink and blonde pigtails, and sharp amber eyes—, you hesitate for a moment before shushing your pokémon back into calmness. He reluctantly sits down by your feet, following the person movement's with distrustful ruby eyes. Plumeria leans on the balustrade of the waterfront several feet away from you both and clears her throat.

“Beautiful night, innit?” she says. “I promise I come in peace. I just wanna talk, and offer an apology.”

You stare at her for several seconds, mulling over her words carefully, then nod. “... Okay. Follow me."

Five minutes later you sit in front of each other in one of the long tables at the Pokémon Centre cafeteria. This late at night, there is no one there and the place is eerily lit by the dim emergency lights. Fortunately, the vending machines are still operational. Plumeria sips on her soda and sneds a questioning look at your steaming cup of coffee, most likely having already noticed the deep dark circles under your eyes.

“Not sleeping much lately?”

You shrug. “I don’t particularly enjoy the nightmares.”

“That sucks,” she retorts, sighing. “Listen, thanks for agreeing to this. It means a lot, especially after how I’ve unjustly treated you. The threats and everything, and even kidnapping your friend for that mad woman... I don't know what I was thinking."

“It’s alright. Nothing of that really matters anymore, I guess.”

“Well, it does, at least for me. I wanted to say sorry, so… there’s that— _sorry_.”

“Okay,” you accept her apology, nodding absentmindedly. She frowns at your overall lack of emotional response.

“It's just... that has always been my role, you know—being by G’s side and protecting him from dangers he can’t see. It’s what I do, and you seemed like a pretty big problem. I’ve known that stupid numbskull since forever and I hate to see him walk into walls because of his poor judgement. Life hasn’t been kind for either of us—we run away from home at the same time, learnt to survive on the streets, and eventually we founded Team Skull together.”

“I didn’t know you'd known each other for so long. I…” you trail off. “He told me nothing about his past and I thought it was fine, at the time, that he would open himself to me one day. Now I see it was all bullshit.”

"I’m not defending him for lying or anything, but... he had his reasons,” she exhales, looking down at the can of soda. “Okay, listen—he felt terrible about hiding shit from you, that much I can vow is true. He talked my ear off about that too many times to count, asked what he should do and stuff. In the end, everything comes down to that crazy bitch. If someone's at fault here, that's Lusamine. _Madame Prez_. She poisoned his mind and used my family as little pawns in her plans, and I... I didn't do enough to prevent it. I guess it's also my fault, in a sense.”

“I just can't get my head around why would he let that woman control him like that.”

She deviates her gaze to the side, scratching at her wrist in thought. “I don’t really know if I should be the one telling you this but… well, the deal with G is that no one has ever taken him seriously. No adult, as he grew up, thought he was worth anything—especially the asshole that’s his father. No matter how hard he tried to earn his admiration. G is far from stupid but Lusamine was just ahead of us all. She knew exactly how to play him to obtain the perfect soldier. I warned him about that woman, time and time again, but he was drunk on the praise and the attention. The money was pretty good, and I didn’t thought he’d get _that_ lost in her deception, so I let it run for a while as long as it helped put food on our table.”

You hum noncommittally, contemplating those revelations.

“Everything changed when you appeared, though. Oh, man, it did,” she continues, laughing softly. “That day, I remember he returned shouting from the rooftops that he had finally found you. I’ve never seen him like that, so excited, like a kid in seeing snow for the first time. He’d been waiting for you a long, _long_ time. Even back home when things were crap, he found some kind of comfort in the idea that you existed somewhere out there.”

You almost want to cry.

Tears won’t come.

Only the shadows.

“Then why didn’t he break connections with Lusamine over the last months? I mean—I really thought what we were building meant more than that. I asked him if something was wrong, and he... he lied to my face!”

“Like I said, it’s not my place to talk about this.”

“Well, he clearly didn’t, and now… he won’t be able to.”

“Get him back and see it for yourself, then,” she suggests, almost jokingly, but the expression in her golden eyes is dead serious. You lift an eyebrow in confusion. “Not gonna lie, I came here for another reason, too.”

“Oh, I’m already getting used to being used. Don’t worry much.”

“Please, don't. I... I don't wanna use you. It's difficult enough to say it without you looking at me like that. I came here to talk with you and I wanted to apologize, which I did. We buried the hatchet and we had a heartfelt conversation like proper human beings. But I also wanted to ask something of you. Call it a personal favour if it sounds better."

“And that is?”

“Bring Guzma back. Please. If anyone can do it, that’s you. He needs your help.”

“I-I can’t do that. He’s… gone.”

You wince as a wave of darkness invades your mind.

 ** _Lost_**.

 _Beyond_. _Far away_.

 _But **not** gone_.

_He needs help._

_Before it’s too **late**._

“E-even if I could,” you angrily shake your head, clutching the cup until the plastic splinters, the remaining coffee dripping between your fingers in sticky rivulets. “How am I even supposed to find him? I’m only human! _Nebby_ ’s is unresponsive after what happened and its power is the only way I know to open a trans-dimensional gate. Unless you’re aware of something I don’t, then _no_ , I can’t bring him back. I can’t.”

“You’ll find a way. I know you will,” the open sincerity in that statement really surprises you.

“Why are you so fucking sure about me all of a sudden? You hated my guts just a couple of weeks ago!”

She sighs. “I didn’t hate you, really. I guess I felt intimidated. You’re a force to be reckoned and you were my best friend's soulmate, barging into the scene to complicate everything. I hope you can forgive me. And... I’m so sure you can do it because I’ve seen what you’re capable of but, above all, because G believed in you. So, please, bring him back so that I can kick his silly ass."


	13. Into that Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know you must be at your wit's end when you have to ask a legendary pokémon for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do not go gentle into that good night,  
> Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
> Rage, rage against the dying of the light."  
> Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night, by Dylan Thomas
> 
>  
> 
> I just finished writing an essay and rushed to finish this chapter because it was taking forever and I feel awful about all these slow updates.  
> This might have some mistakes. Sorry I can't do better right now.  
> Thanks for every visit, kudos and comment! Love you all!
> 
> [You know where to find me. :)](https://fightingmonsterswithwords.tumblr.com/)  
> 

The answer to your plight arrives one rainy afternoon along with Gladion’s first visit since the happenings at Aether Paradise. He assumed the responsibilities of surrogate president in the absence of his mother and, despite his age, everyone seems to think he is doing an outstanding job at restoring peace in the disrupted corporation. The unprecedented scandal of Lusamine’s hidden agenda has been all over the newspapers these past few weeks, the expansive wave reaching even across the regions with which Alola holds political ties, so the teenager has had his hands full with the press despite counting with Miss Wicke’s loyal assistance.

Their first move was to lend the government a hand in dealing with the threat of the remaining Ultra Beasts that had been popping all around the islands, attacking citizens and wreaking havoc in their wake, which thankfully seems to be more or less under control by now. Those who didn’t end in Aether’s laboratories seem to have vanished, back to their dimension, but you heard Nanu still receives at least one weekly call informing of beasts' sightings.

The televisions around the Pokémon Centre are always on, lately set in the news channel almost permanently, and lacking any real pastime you have been following the exhaustive media coverage. Countless trials have been held—everyone the police could get their hands on that they suspected played a part in the black market of stolen pokémon—and numerous Aether workers have been sentenced to prison, as well as those members of Team Skull that couldn’t run fast enough. You want to ask Plumeria if she’s faring well, but it’s been several days since that late night conversation and truth is you have no means of contacting her.

It’s not like you can do anything useful from your position, anyway. You don’t hold any influence over the authorities to plead for someone’s release from jail and your mind seems to drift further away each passing day, so finding the way to bring Guzma back to his ‘family’ is the only worthy assistance you can offer.

Even if you wanted to forget about him, something about which you can’t seem to reach a definite decision, you _can’t_. Those rare nights you succumb to your body’s needs and manage to catch a decent couple hours of sleep, he keeps sneaking into your dreams. Not really himself but faint echoes of his voice and traces of his smell lingering on the air—enough to drive you mad with desperation once the darkness swallows everything time and time again before you wake up. Professor Burnet believes he could be trying to reach you through the remnants of the soulmate bond but no one can tell for sure. Personally, you suspect it’s just those shadows playing with your mind by providing the tiniest shred of hope and snatching it away.

If Guzma could actually gather the strength to reach across the dimensional breach, wouldn’t he try to send an actual message? Or wouldn’t you be able to feel _something_ that told you it was real? But you don’t, and that nasty black hole is still in place, feeding off your emotions.

Everything is turning grey and just growing darker. Like the sky today.

Rain always reminds you of Po Town nowadays. You are staring out the window of your room in the second floor, following the parade of colourful umbrellas in the sidewalk below with dead eyes, when there’s a knock on the door. You turn around expecting to find Lillie, like every day before, but it’s her older brother instead. He hesitates in the threshold, holding two steaming plastic cups of coffee from the cafeteria downstairs.

“Oh. Hi, Gladion.”

“Sorry I couldn’t come earlier,” he apologizes, walking inside the room to join you by the window. He hands you one of the beverages. It will be the fourth or fifth you have today but it’s nothing near the record number and you can always use more caffeine. “Lillie told me you’re not sleeping much these days.”

“Don’t act as if you’ve been resting properly either, with everything that’s going on. I read the newspapers, you know,” you reply, following the descending movement of the raindrops on the window pane with your finger. You hate how people treat you lately. They tiptoe around you, careful of every word and every movement as if you’re going to break at any moment. It’s growing increasingly unbearable—their _pity_.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, well, it’s nowhere near comparable.”

“I’d rather fight nightmares than hungry reporters, I think,” you murmur. “They’re way scarier.”

“Stop fooling around for a second here. Let’s be serious,” he stomps his foot down. “Look, I’m getting worried about this. I mean, we’re all beyond worried by this point. Things can only go two ways for you right now, both ugly and terrible, unless we do something.”

You sigh. “Either I go crazy or I die, I know. Future’s looking bright as ever for little old me.”

“Nothing of that will happen if we can prevent it.”

“How? Do you have a magical way of walking through dimensions? Because I’d love to hear about it.”

“Not exactly, but I do have… _something_. A possible solution. I’m not sure if it’s what we need or utter foolishness, to be honest. I guess it depends on how much faith you have in myths.”

“Then I’m gonna die for sure.”

Groaning, he stomps to the bedside table where Lillie always keeps a small tower of books to read during her visits and extracts one from the pile. He waves it in front of your face as if to convey the message. Old and slightly tattered at the edges, you recognize it right away— _The Light of Alola_.

You gape at the book, then at him. “So… you’re telling me you plan on asking a legendary pokémon for help.”

“Not me. _You_.”

“That’s even better,” you half-snort. It’s the closest sound to a laugh you have heard from yourself in almost a month. “We’re all doomed!”

“I don’t think so,” he asserts. With a small grin of victory, he produces something from the inner pocket of his jacket; graceful and elongated in form, shining like polished copper. There is an intricate sun symbol carved on the lip plate of the flute. “This was among my mother’s private collection. I don’t know how it ended up there but it’s an ancient Alolan relic.”

“ _The ancient kings sang their thanks for Solgaleo and Lunala with song of flute_ …” you recite from memory. “You’re telling me that’s the flute from the legend _and_ you expect me to believe it.”

“Since you seem to be familiar with our mythology, that will simplify things,” he continues, ignoring your sullen observations. “I’m quite certain it is the flute from the legend, yes. One of _two_ flutes, to be exact. My mother wouldn’t have kept it around if she was dubious of its authenticity in the slightest, and she was fairly acquainted with the region’s ancient folklore. They must have found it in that excavation she sponsored near Ula’ula Meadow.”

“Then why didn’t she use it to reach the Ultra Space?”

“Probably because she got her hands on Cosmog first,” he theorizes, rather vaguely. “So she didn’t really have the need to rely on hypothetical legendary pokémon if she managed to open a portal using the one she already had in her power. Or maybe she was thinking about adding them all to her collection. Who knows?”

Only then you realize something, his words resonating like a plucked string within the confines of your mind. Frowning, you retrace the verses of the ancient rhyme. “ _Beast of sun and beast of moon. Through their union, they brought new life. A fragile heir in Alola was born_! W-wait, does it… Does that part of the legend refer to _Nebby_?”

He nods. “I reached the same conclusion myself. It only makes sense. If Cosmog was a legendary pokémon after all, then its incredible power would be much easier to explain. And then we would have an extra chance of getting to Lunala and Solgaleo. I’ve already shared my thoughts with the Professors and Lillie, and she’s more than willing to accompany you to Poni Island to, at least, give this plan a shot. She’s most likely getting ready for the trip as we speak.”

 

* * *

 

Preparation are made swiftly. Your travelling bag is packed within the hour and you receive a visit from Professor Burnet shortly after, as she has obviously been informed of the trip ahead and would like to run some tests before you leave in the morning. The readings of the bond seem to keep growing weaker and weaker with every heartbeat, which both discourages you and spurs you on to succeed in this mission.

As if you have a choice.

It could be hours, it could be days, maybe weeks if fortune feels like doing you a favour, but you don’t have much time left.

Trying to sleep if futile with those ominous contemplations in mind, so you just spend the whole night… thinking. About everything.

Before leaving the Pokémon Centre at sunrise, you decide to act on your nightly reflections and do one last thing—just in case something goes wrong. Because you could fail and you could very much die, and you could lose yourself in the darkness at some point along the way even before reaching your destination. Or you could lose _him_ in a thousand ways. It’s with that in mind that you walk into the communication’s centre in the lobby and drop down in one of the private booths. Every such building counts with this kind of facilities by law, entirely at the public’s disposal, mainly so that travellers can keep in touch with their families.

Shaking slightly, you take a deep breath and dial your home’s number preceded by Kanto’s prefix. The very sight of those numbers feels foreign right now. It takes more than a few rings before someone picks up, then suddenly your mother’s shocked face appears on the screen of the device, eyes growing impossibly wide at seeing you at the other side. A sad smile settles on your lips, even though you can’t really feel anything but emptiness and despair. She looks just like you remember her, although the worry lines on her face look a little deeper and over all she looks rather tired.

“Oh, dear Arceus… It’s been months—almost half a year with no word from you! This is… A-Are you alright?”

“Hi, mum. Sorry I didn’t call sooner. I shouldn’t have left like that.”

She sighs. “No, please, honey. It’s us who should apologize. We’ve had some time to think and, well, your father and I understood we were on the wrong—that we shouldn’t have put so much pressure on you. He should be returning home soon, if you want to talk with him. Maybe we could call you later…”

“I-I don’t have much time to talk right now, actually,” you interrupt her, hands shaking badly on your lap. “I have to go somewhere but before I left I just wanted to let you know that… _I found him_ , mum,” your voice is a broken whisper. “After everything, I found him. And I lost him.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, you lost… Darling, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry, mum. I’m going to bring him back and fix everything. I’ll fix it… I have to fix it. Just don’t forget that I love you both.”

The screen goes black as you abruptly end the call.

 

* * *

 

Gladion provides a boat and personally drops you both off at Seafolk Village in the South coast of Poni with instructions to meet with the kahuna, find the missing flute and perform the ritual at the altar. It’s a nice, quaint pier where a group of nomad people berth their collection of colourful floating houses shaped like Water-type pokémon. Not quite a proper city but the closest thing to one there exists in the island at the moment. There’s a small Pokémon Centre, at the very least, and a giant tree sprouting in the middle of the wooden platform of the docks, looking a bit out of place but adding a nice touch to the scenery.

Upon arrival, you allow the siblings some much needed private time to make amends—Gladion is not one to apologize easily but you hope he puts his pride aside and gives his sister a proper explanation as to why he ran away from home without a word, knowingly leaving her behind with Lusamine—and wander off to explore on your own. The sooner you pick up some clues, the better.

By the time Lillie joins you beneath the branches of the huge tree, wiping some stray tears from her eyes, the chief of the Seafolk people—a good-humoured burly man with long dark hair and a bushy beard—has kindly pointed you towards Hapu’s home in the mainland.

“Her house is the only one still standing on Poni, after all. Nowhere else to go,” he chuckles. “You’ll recognize it right away thanks to that huge Mudsdale of hers.”

Your pokémon clear the path, overgrown with wild vegetation and significantly more crowded with adventurous trainers than you would have expected from a place that is virtually deserted population-wise. Soon enough, the patches of tall grass give way to what looks like the ruins of a town. Like the friendly sailor said, there is only one house standing intact among the remnants of what once must have been an actual village and, in the front porch, there is a Mudsdale peacefully napping in the shade.

“Hey, that must be Hapu’s house!” Lillie confidently points out. She is really determined to succeed on this quest—more so than yourself, truth be told. You haven’t seen her resolve falter for a single second since you left Akala Island behind. She has even disposed of her frilly dress and impractical hat, undergoing a dramatic change and choosing a new outfit better fit for traveling.

The huge horse pokémon opens one eye at hearing you approaching and lazily climbs to its legs, emitting a loud neigh to alert whoever is in the house of the presence of visitors. You expect to see Hapu’s familiar face, but an elderly lady sticks her head out of a window instead.

“Oh? Do you need something?”

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” Lillie begins. “We’re looking for Hapu. Is she around?”

“No apologies needed, deary,” the woman smiles kindly. “This is a pleasant surprise—we don’t receive many guests around these parts. Please, come inside. My little girl should return at any moment now.”

She kindly gestures for you to sit in a small dining table. Muttering a soft ‘thanks’, you accept the teacup she offers and take a small sip, not really tasting anything. Your fingers grip the porcelain with a little too much strength. It’s not like you want to be impolite but there’s no time for sitting around and drinking tea—you are in a literal race against the clock, knowing every second ticking away must be the one that cuts the thread that keeps Guzma alive inside you. Acknowledging the possible failure of all this lights your breast up with the fiercest spark of a sensation you have felt in weeks, which was kindled the moment you saw your mother again—the moment you felt like you had to tell her… and you couldn’t.

Pure and unadulterated _terror_.

If Lily notices you trembling and goes to say something, she is interrupted by the disruption of the front door opening. Hapu walks inside with a brown paper bag of groceries clutched to her chest, thick black braids bouncing in time with her step. She does a funny double take at seeing you in her living room, chatting with her grandmother.

“Oh, hey there—long time no see, my friends! I didn’t expect to see you here! Does this visit have anything to do with those nasty, weird creatures that fell from the sky a month ago?”

“So the Ultra Beasts appeared even here,” Lillie muses. “It’s a long story, actually.”

“Well, fill me in.”

Nodding silently, you give Lillie permission to share all the details of your journey. Taking a deep breath, she proceeds to tell them _everything_ —about her mother’s unethical activities in Aether Paradise, about _Nebby_ and the wormholes, and, lastly, about your damaged soul bond and Guzma disappearing in another dimension.

“That’s why we need to find Poni Island’s kahuna without delay! Only with the Moon Flute and the Sun Flute can we attempt to summon the legendary pokémon and find them,” she finishes. “Before it’s too late.”

Several seconds go by as the news settle in. Lillie catches your trembling hand in hers.

“Oh, dear…” whispers Hapu’s grandmother, exchanging a silent glance with the dark-haired girl.

“What’s the matter?”

“There is a teeny-weeny problem, you see,” Hapu sighs. “As of now, Poni Island has no kahuna.”

“… Oh.”

“But don’t fret,” she hurries to exclaim, most likely noticing the look of utter hopelessness spreading on both your faces. “I won’t abandon any friend in a moment of need. There’s still something we can do,” she nods to herself. “Let’s go to the Ruins of Hope.”

 

* * *

 

Several hours later you find yourself back in Seafolk Village, looking to hitch a boat ride from some kind soul. The result of your trip to the sacred heart of the island ended with Hapu being chosen as kahuna. Honestly, the will of the Tapus is downright unpredictable. After the compulsory pokémon battle to prove your value as challenger, she shares a detailed explanation of what you have to do in order to invoke Lunala at the Altar of the Moone and sends you off to retrieve the remaining ritual flute in a nearby islet inhabited only by pokémon.

Fortunately enough, the chief of the seafolk people remembers you from earlier and agrees to take you both in his S.S. Magikarp—free of charge. Noticing that Lillie is dead tired on her feet you suggest she catches some sleep at the Pokémon Centre in the meanwhile but she stubbornly refuses to let you go alone all the way to Exeggutor Island and back.

She ends up falling asleep a couple of hours later with her blonde head on your lap, as you seek shelter in a cave. It doesn’t take too long to climb up the North hill and retrieve the Moon Flute, after all, but a particularly aggressive tropical rainstorm surprises you on the way down. Either way, with the precious instrument safely tucked away in your bag you feel like you can allow yourself some rest, hopeful that everything will be but a bad memory at this time tomorrow.

You will your soul to hold on for a little longer. _Just a little longer_

After a while the downpour seems to die down, so you shake Lillie awake. She blinks up at the sky and smiles, taking the rainbow that appears on the pastel-tinted sky as a sign of good fortune.

But the true challenge on your path still lies ahead—Vast Poni Canyon.

Hearing warnings of its perilous nature from at least three different mouths, you grudgingly force Lillie to sleep some more in the Pokémon Centre. Come morning, you meet Hapu at the mouth of the canyon. Even though you try to shake off as many pokémon battles as you can, she helps you battle all the trainers that won’t accept a negative. It’s outstanding how many people come to the island looking for a rigorous training.

It takes the better part of the day to reach the end of the intricate cave system, with all its ups and downs, and then you have to face the island’s true trial in the form of a bellicose Kommo-o.

In all conscience, it’s both a miracle and an immense exercise of sheer stubbornness that you manage to arrive at the altar before sunset. The ritual must be performed at twilight for it to be effective, so a couple of hours could mean waiting until the following nightfall. But everyone can tell you’re at the end of your rope by the time you reach the top of the giant stone staircase, both physically and mentally. Spending yet another day could mark all the difference for you—it could be the end.

Following Hapu’s instructions, you take the Moon Flute and go to stand in one of the stone pedestals while Lillie does the same in the opposite side of the altar with the Sun Flute in her hands. Each square tile is surrounded by a shallow pit of water that draws a design on the carved stone tiles. Exhaling a nervous breath, you push away the exhaustion trying to drag you down and touch your dry lips to the instrument, waiting until the exact moment in which the incandescent ball that is the sun meets the dark horizon line. The melodies of the flutes merge together into an otherworldly tune as your fingers clumsily follow the simple ritual score indicated in the book.

The final note hangs on the air, reverberating throughout the canyon walls, and the water begins to shine. The light spreads along the intricate marks carved on the stone, following the lines up the mighty wall to trace the colossal circular plate that presides the altar. Everything around you seems to shimmer with a mystic, unknown energy as the blinding light suddenly shoots out to Lillie’s bag—no, to _Nebby_ —and the tiny pokémon is engulfed in the beam, evolving right in front of your eyes, growing larger and larger still until the creature breaks free from the shiny cocoon with a roar that shakes your very bones and a powerful swipe of its newly-acquired wings.

Lunala looks down at you with fiery magenta eyes, blocking the emerging moonlight with its imposing silhouette. Its body seems to hold all the darkness and the randiance of the night firmament.

No one dares speak for several long seconds. You don’t even know if your voice would respond.

In the end, it’s Lillie who gathers the courage to speak up, frightful but resolute. “N- _Nebby_? Thank goodness, you’re alright. I was so worried!” The legendary pokémon cocks its head to the side, listening but not answering. Is it even the same little nebula you once knew? “I-I would never have imagined you possessed so much power. Nothing in all my reading ever hinted you could evolve into a legendary pokémon and yet… Here you are, Lunala.”

Silence.

“Please, _Nebby_ ,” she presses on. “I know they hurt you but… you have to help us reach the other side—please, help us save my mother and Guzma.”

“Please,” you whisper, too, meeting the pokémon’s burning gaze. Your fingers grip the Moon Flute, holding it in front of you as some sort of offering. “W-we stand before you tonight because we need your help. Please—hear our plea. There isn’t much time left.”

A cold claw grips your chest from the inside when your desperate prayer still receives no answer.

But then Lunala raises its head to the skies and there is barely time to react and cover your ears before it emits a deafening screech. The legendary pokémon flaps its wings, the golden accents of its body drawing a perfect circle—a full moon—and fires a column of light onto the circle at the top of the altar, which is set alight once again in a crackling ring of white, blue and purple fire leading to another dimension. With a softer cry, Lunala flies down and lands on the ground between the ceremonial pedestals, urging you to hop onto its back.

_I’m coming for you, Guzma._

_I just hope you don’t make me regret this. I just hope… it's not too late._


	14. Till Human Voices Wake Us and We Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have walked across dimensions to find him. Will it be too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We have lingered in the chambers of the sea  
> By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown  
> Till human voices wake us... and we drown.”  
> The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry it took so long to update (my final exams got in the way) — and sorry as well because I really can't tell how bad or how good this chapter is.  
> I'm starting to think I'll never be 100% satisfied with anything I write, anyway... but half of this was written a month ago, another part after a very emotional moment, and the last part while battling the infernal heat we're suffering in Madrid as of late (I had to spare some savings to buy a fan because I could barely think at all). So I don't know if I managed to completely smooth out the rough edges off it last night.  
> Thank you all for your invaluable support, as always. You're awesome. ♡

If you had ever wondered what it would feel like to set foot in another world—and you most certainly had, in treacherous moments of idle curiosity, even though none of those fantasies involved this specific set of circumstances—now you have your answer. It feels… wrong.

Crossing the gateway is like plunging into a pool, that slap of coldness upon breaking the crystalline surface, and truth is what awaits at the other side oddly resembles an underwater landscape. It looks like some sort of gloomy, otherworldly reef where everything is dark and oppressive. Spires of black rock and petrified-like colourful corals sprout from the ashen ground, all different shapes and heights, like turrets guarding the narrow and claustrophobic path that stretches ahead into the cavern. The alien atmosphere differs from the one your body is accustomed to—the air feels heavy, strangely dense as it goes into your lungs with some difficulty, and every movement feels like walking on the bottom of the ocean, with that bothersome pressure hindering every attempt at agility. For a brief instant of time when you first open your eyes to the wicked wonders of the Ultra Space, you think those sensations might just be an extension of your previous ailment, but then you see Lillie is also dangerously wobbly on her feet.

Both of you spare a good five minutes looking in awe at your surroundings, taking in the weight of what you have accomplished—walking into another world.

“This is, uhh, somewhat different than I’d expected. It’s scary but also kind of… pretty? It’s so strange,” Lillie gasps, pausing to take a deep breath in between sentences. “But the air… The air’s so thick here it almost hurts to breathe. Do you feel it?”

You nod in voiceless agreement. “This is like no place I’ve ever seen. I have a bad feeling about it… like, we have no way of knowing how long a human can stay in these extreme conditions without suffering physical repercussions. And we can’t forget it’s home to all kind of dangerous things so… let us be quick, before they find out we’ve trespassed on their territory.”

Her angelic features furrow into a worried frown, but she doesn’t allow it to stay in place for longer than a few seconds. Lillie is the unquestionable leader of this expedition and you are perfectly fine with following someone else for once instead of having everyone depending on your every move. She has matured so quickly and unexpectedly before your eyes whilst you were busy running around and sorting the troubles of your sentimental predicament, that you can hardly remember the timid and frightened girl you aided back at Mahalo Trail all those months ago. “It’s alright, we can do this. Let’s go!”

Fighting the light-headedness that pushes down on your mind, you turn towards Lunala—you are not sure how to refer to the legendary pokémon anymore, whether by its given name or its mythical title. It must be strange, changing identities so drastically and suddenly. It looks down at you with solemn red eyes, its large membranous wings still displayed in that deliberate circular posture, suspended on the air and glowing a shimmering blue as it most likely keeps the connection between dimensions open. From the seriousness and strain on the pokémon’s expression, you understand it cannot move from there if you want the portal to your world to remain intact.

“You’ll wait us here?”

Lunala answers with a soft screech that you interpret as affirmative.

“Then thank you so much for bringing us here, _Nebby_. We’ll return as soon as possible.”

Taking your first cautious steps on foreign ground, you notice the only light source, albeit faint, seems to come from the corals. Whatever material they are composed of, the polyps emit a sequence of feeble glows only strong enough to discern a modest stretch of pale sand in front of you. Spooky lights and shadows dance on the path ahead.

Lunala brought you to some sort of clearing and you can only be thankful that you happened to appear there because, when you look around, beyond the relative luminosity and calmness of the area, everything dissolves into an unnerving darkness.

Line upon line of rocky towers rise everywhere like an endless forest of dead trees. And, somewhere amidst the blackness, the beasts lie in wait. The high-pitched, eerie sounds they produce reverberate against the stone and appear to be everywhere at once. Those almost-giggles that seem to mock you all. Too soon into the exploration of the cave, they are already driving you so mad with trepidation that you release all Mimikyu, Arcanine and Primarina from their pokéballs to repel anything that dares come too close. You are not taking any chances.

Dread drags you down, that weak but persistent pull on your battered soul—barely held together by obstinacy and your last shreds of hope—being the only force moving your body onwards. As long as you can feel the faintest flame flickering in the heart of the black hole consuming you from inside, you will keep walking towards it like a moth enraptured by the light.

For a while you walk in uneasy silence, shoulder to shoulder, eyes darting to every shadowy corner with the smallest disturbance of the quietude. The more you delve into the suffocating Ultra Space, the more anxious you feel yourself growing even under the layer of apathy permeating your thoughts, especially when the first Nihilegos—the familiar and unnerving amalgam of white tentacles you met in Aether Paradise—manifest themselves. Floating aimlessly along the stone forest, the first pair you come across with seem to deliberately ignore your presence. Unfortunately, the next one is far sneakier and bolder than its siblings, and it’s only thanks to your pokémons’ quick reaction that its attempt to grab Lillie by the ankle and drag her into the dark is thwarted.

Temporarily overpowered, the beast retreats into the unknown with an angry whistling sound that sends ominous shivers down your spine. It didn’t take any significant damage and there might be _thousands_ of them out there. Bigger, creepier, stronger—who knows. The damn thing didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. If it wasn’t clear before, the maxim now is: the faster you leave, the better.

A bit further down the dim road, Lillie’s hand grips your wrist to halt your steps. “W-wait a second,” she says, voice low with wariness. “I think there’s someone ahead.”

“Where?”

“There, by the base of the biggest pillar. Maybe it’s them?”

Although it’s somewhat hard to tell in the overall murkiness of the air, there definitely is something in the way. It could be either a person, a boulder or a deadly creature, for all you know.

Steeling yourself for whatever may happen, you tug on Lillie’s hand to move along. You proceed with caution, your pokémon on the forefront with an attack ready on mind, until you come close enough to discern the shadow truly is someone lying face down on the floor of the cavern. Squinting your eyes, you notice the dark clothes, the shock of messy bleached hair and the unmistakable sunglasses lying broken on the ground, and you choke on your breath, absolutely horrified.

Lillie uses her hold on your wrist again, stopping you in your tracks while shaking her head worriedly at the sight of a dozen Nihilegos in scene you hadn’t even _noticed_. How could you have not seen them? Hear them, even? They float all around like shreds of flimsy white fabric caught in the tide, flocking over the collapsed figure of Guzma and the adjacent coral turrets.

Peace lasts an instant before the Ultra Beasts detect your appearance. They start blinking in and out of sight as their terrifying giggles grow louder, drawing nearer.

“P-primarina…” you mumble, the command your brain had conjured a mere moment ago dying on your tongue. Suddenly, you find yourself unable to think, uncappable of prying your wide-open eyes away from Guzma. You only see him—injured, unmoving, possibly _dead_.

Lillie tugs on your arm. “Hurry up! They’re coming!”

But you can’t breathe. “I-I…”

Even though she’s trembling from head to toe, Lillie takes a step forward as if shielding you from the danger, and claims control of the situation. Amidst your panic, you remember a second too late that she has never participated in a pokémon battle before but, luckily, she has been travelling by your side long enough to pick up a trick or two—at best, enough to recall some attacks that she thought particularly impressive. “Primarina, use, eh… wait, I know! Hit them with Oceanic Operetta!” she completes your previous order. The powerful water attack knocks several Nihilegos down and, little by little, she seems to acquire confidence and starts naming attacks she remembers. “Yeah, keep going! Mimikyu, Play Rough with them! Arcanine… target those on the left with Flame Burst! And—wait, Crunch that one!”

The chaotic combination of attacks does the trick, at the very least, and the beasts call retreat, slowly blinking out of sight.

Lillie whispers your name, unable to fathom what you must be feeling. She has been the main witness to your suffering and even now she doesn’t know what to do but awkwardly stand by your side.

Day after day immersed in that cursed lethargy that seemed to have no end, that incomplete existence that was not fully living but not entirely dying either. So much dead time in your hands, spent watching the hours tick by until the clock announced your last breath, and still you hadn’t really spared a single second to think about what would happen when you finally found him. _If_ you found him. _If_ you both lasted long enough. _If_ everything went as planned. Nothing could have prepared you for this moment because all the odds seemed to work against you, because it seemed impossible that you would ever feel that familiar warmth in your breast ever again—blossoming like the smallest of buds, neglected by sunshine and rainwater for too long, given up for lost, but opening timidly at the touch of springtime to defy nature and death and despair.

Somehow his soul reaches out to you, a wisp of silver that is weak and barely holding on, and your soul responds. The bond is mending itself. It refuses to shatter and disappear. You understand then that it won’t let you or Guzma die because that stupid bond is made of the best and the worst that dwells in the depths of your souls—and you are a pair of hopelessly stubborn idiots.

Half a heartbeat later your legs are moving on their own, running towards Guzma. The soles of your boots skid on the terrain as you drop on your knees next you him, ignoring the burn of the harsh friction on the bare skin. Everything you were unable to feel these past weeks is rushing back to you, an overwhelming storm of happiness, relief, fear, sadness, rage and raw desperation too powerful to grasp at once without breaking apart. But he is alive, alive, alive.

Trembling badly, tears pooling on your eyes, you drop a hand on his arm—exhaling a quavering breath of alleviation at confirming he is truly here, _real_ —but he doesn’t respond to your touch. Lillie helps you turn his unconscious, heavy body onto his side. Your hand immediately flies to his carotid artery, feeling the weakest pulse under your fingertips. He is cold to the touch, but definitely breathing—laboured, shallow pants.

“Lillie, p-pass me the water,” you weakly request.

Ignoring the plastic cap as it falls and rolls away in your hastiness to unseal the bottle, you place it against his chapped lips and pour a little liquid in his mouth—careful not to choke him—until he seems to react, instinctively leaning against you to seek the much needed water. Uncappable of holding everything in, you start crying. He really is alive. He is going to be okay. You help him drink a series of brief sips until the bottle is empty and he emits a weak groan, his eyes ever so slowly fluttering open.

An ugly sob hitches in your throat at seeing the beautiful, stormy grey you love so much tragically dulled almost entirely to a black and foggy hue, as if he could not see anything at all.

But then his bloodshot vision seems to focus on your face and he snaps awake, his eyes clearing ever so faintly as he _flinches away_.

“… N-no… Get away for me!” he implores in a hoarse, broken scream, messily falling to the ground. He looks downright traumatized as he starts crawling on his elbows to try and put some distance between your bodies, until his back hits one of the spires and he too starts crying—but out of horror. “Go away, fuckin’ d-demons… Stop torturing me!”

Confused, you hesitantly reach a hand towards him, but he harshly kicks it away.

“Don’t touch me! S-stop pretendin’ to be _her_. Leave my mind alone… I can’t do this anymore. I-I can’t… Just kill me!”

The scene clenches your heart and the pain in his words strikes you like lightning. You can feel brushes of an intense fear that doesn’t belong to you. He is deadly afraid of something that looks like you and, recalling the twisted fantasies the shadows assaulted you with every night still vividly in your mind, you can’t really blame him. Even so, being the source of his misery sends daggers through your chest.

You move closer, withstanding as he thrashes to bat you away once more—his foot hitting your shoulder rather painfully. He is weakened enough that you can hold him down, even if you have to quite literally sit on top of him, straddling his body and holding his arms to his sides, even though he keeps screaming and fighting to throw you off. Something foreign twists your insides when you see the unrelenting tears rolling down his face, how his shoulders shake with impotence, the violence with which every plead seems to tear itself from a bleeding throat.

“Just kill me, demon!”

“Stop saying that and look at me!” you cry right in his face, moving closer to his dulled eyes as if to confirm your authenticity. But it isn’t enough to convince him and, out of resources, you lean down and crush your lips against his in a desperate kiss. It isn’t pretty nor enjoyable. It’s short-lived, crude and bordering on disgusting, but it makes your tattered soul soar back into life—even for a brief instant. When you lean back to gaze at his stupefied face, your own tears fall like salty rain to join his in an oddly poetic picture. “I’m here, idiot. I’m really here.”

He stops struggling against you hold, gawking at you in stunned silence, completely immobile, for so long a time that you start worrying. But then he dares ask: “ _Why_? You… stupid! Why did ya come here?”

“Are _you_ really calling _me_ stupid?” you half-laugh sardonically, moving off his body so that he can rest properly against the rock pillar. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Guzma!”

Shoulders shagging in shame, he buries his face in his freed hands and shakes his head side to side, wild white hair flying everywhere. “N-no, fuck, of course you’re right… I’m the stupid one. I always am. You even came here… I don’t fuckin’ deserve to be saved.”

Exasperation flaring up, you scoff and work on wiping the tears off your cheeks. “I’m not going to discuss this bullshit with you. Just… shut up, okay? I’m dragging your sorry ass back to the other side whether you feel like you deserve it or not. This isn’t only about you, asshole.”

“I know I’ve no right no say this b-but… I regret doin’ what I did. It’s bein’ horrible. It’s bein’… I-I’m so sorry, babe.”

“No! Don’t you dare… Don’t do this right now. Please, d-don’t,” you sob. “This haven’t been a walk through the park for me either, you know? It was fucking _hell_ , after you left like that. You almost _broke_ the bond and _killed_ me—killed us both. I couldn’t think straight, I haven’t slept in who knows how long without nightmares, and I can’t even control my emotions because it’s like you ripped my fucking heart away and I’m dying inside. B-But I just couldn’t… forget you and let you die. I couldn’t.” He looks miserable, moving to take hold of your hand, but you clumsily climb to your feet, avoiding his touch. It hurts. But you have yet to decide how to deal with Guzma once you leave this place behind—you can’t possibly forgive him so easily, so soon, but sentiments such as pride and resentment seem awfully petty right now, and it’s what brought you to the current situation in the first place. Perhaps you have suffered enough already.

“I-I know I fucked up big time. I can’t even tell why I thought this would be a good idea,” he mutters, as much as to himself as to you. “I-I… I’ve never felt fear like this before. Feelin’ you so far away. The pain was… fuck. Then I started seein’ ya everywhere, but it wasn’t real. Shadows…” he visibly shudders. “Demons with your face and your voice.”

“I know,” you cut him with a harsh whisper. “Believe me, I know what you went through but this is really not the time. We have to hurry and find Lusamine before those things decide to get aggressive.”

His blank gaze falls to the ground, and then he is shaking anew. “Y-You don’t understand. There’s somethin’ seriously wrong with that damn woman and those beasts. I thought she just wanted to capture a bunch and, I don’t know, go back and bask in the glory. There weren’t so many around here when we arrived but she went and stirred up the Beedrill’s nest. She got her hands on the queen with one of those special balls they made at Aether…and it was almost like _she took its place_. Those things bow to her! But they weren’t afraid of me…” He gulps, burying his face in his hands once again. “She didn’t care, of course. I-I’m nothing but a failure, after all.”

Lillie had stood aside during your intimate exchange, but she chooses that moment to step into the conversation. “That’s why we have to stop her and take her back home! She has hurt too many people and done terrible things, but she… she is not herself. I’ll bring her back!”

“Sorry to tell ya this, kid, but she’s far too gone,” he shakes his head. “There’s no talkin’ or tryin’ to reason with her. She’s exactly where she wanted to be and she won’t leave. She has become one with the beasts.”

“I’ll talk some sense into her. I’ll try, at least. She’s my mother! I refuse to believe she has… forgotten that.”

 “And I’m sure she hasn’t, deep down,” you offer Lillie a small, re-assuring smile. “She’s sick, in a sense. If you’re right and she went through a broken soul bond… I can understand why she lost herself to the darkness. We will make her see reason, one way or another. And we’ll make sure she receives the help she needs, when we return.”

“Everything will be okay, I know it,” Lillie declares, gratefulness lighting up her pretty green eyes. “Thank you. Let’s go find her and go back home.”

You feel a tug on your shirt. “… Don’t leave.”

“I told you I’m not leaving this shithole without you, Guzma,” you sigh, tugging at his fingers with your own. He is quick to capture your hand in his, refusing to let it go. You swallow back a sob. “Listen, I have to help Lillie deal with her mother. I really have to.”

“D-Don’t leave me here,” he repeats, voice shaking. “… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Please…”

It drives you mad with anguish to see him this way—you are not even sure he is entirely cognizant of the situation, so pale and noticeably weak, treading between feverish dreams and reality—but truth is you cannot bring yourself to leave his side. It’s unlikely the bond would even allow another separation so soon. You can feel it still working like a dedicated Spinarak on threading the patchwork of your souls tight together. Taking a deep breath, you manoeuvre your fingers to properly grasp his, welcoming the sensation of completeness. “Alright, then… on your feet, big boy—you’re coming with us.”

However, Guzma is even more debilitated than you originally estimated, needing both your help and Arcanine’s to avoid tripping with the air. The mere strain of walking takes so much effort that he passes out in your arms after twenty-odd steps, and then it’s clear that he is _not_ well at all. His forehead is hot but he is shivering almost violently, assaulted by an invisible cold. The shadows under his eyes look disturbingly dark in contrast with the ashen pallor of his skin every time you spare a look at his face. What if you were too late, after all? What if you can’t save him? But what worries you the most is feeling that hollowness still firmly rooted in your chest, smaller perhaps but definitely there, fighting against the very completion of the bond. Perhaps it’s a sign. The sudden twinge of hopelessness is so strong that you almost consider sending Lillie alone to the depths of the Ultra Space—but no, _you can’t do that_.

Torn apart, you end up walking besides the huge dog while he carries Guzma on his back. You trail down the path following Lillie and your other pokémon through the bleary, petrified forest.

The path widens into a gargantuan open area, and you know you must have reached your destination when the giggles of the Ultra Beasts grow loud enough to deafen your already chaotic thoughts. There are so many of them, everywhere, that it looks like a scene out of a horror show. Sitting on a mock-throne made of rock in the middle of the swarm holding all the grace and arrogance of an empress, you see Lusamine.

“Oh, my, look at what the Meowth dragged in!” she exclaims. “Tell me, isn’t it beautiful? A pure, untainted world inhabited by such precious creatures… a _true_ paradise—everything I wanted all along, mine at last! But why must you continue to pester me, even here, hm? Who gave you permission to enter and disrupt our perfect world?”

Lillie balls her hands into fists, taking once more the lead. This is personal, her fight and her opportunity to show her negligent progenitor how far she has come. “Mother, what you’ve done is wrong and you must come back with us. You hurt a lot of people.”

The older woman’s shoulders shake in mocking, silent laughter. “Look around, dear—why would I ever want to leave this place? I’m beyond humanity’s petty notions of wrongness.”

“And what about Mr Guzma? He’s sick because of you! Don’t you care what happens to him?”

Lusamine scoffs. “I need his services no longer. He turned out to be as weak and pathetic as I suspected. What a monumental disappointment.”

Before your brain registers her derisive words, your legs are propelling you across the clearing and suddenly your fist makes contact with her nose and you hear a sickening _crunch_. Pain explodes on your knuckles along a cloud of blood. Some stray drops fly to stain your clothes but it only enhances the sense of satisfaction. It hurts like hell, the force of the impact crawling up your arm like a bad cramp all the way to your shoulder but, oh, is it worth it. You have yearned to do that for a long, long time.

Lusamine falls off the rock, collapsing on the ground with a piercing shriek as she clutches at her marred face. “How. Dare. You!”

“That one was for Guzma. I still have plenty in store for every person you’ve used and tossed aside, so feel free to come and get them.”

Her face is an ironically beautiful masterpiece to behold, so contorted in anger. She holds her heavily bleeding nose trying to make the flow stop but it just streams in between her fingers like a fountain, bright scarlet on porcelain white skin. “Oh, I will return this unacceptable offense. You little pests will regret ruining my perfect dream.”

“No!” protests Lillie. “Stop this right now! You always do this… It’s just like it was back at Aether Paradise. Only thinking of yourself and what you want, never about how those things affect other people.”

“And, why shouldn’t I? I owe them nothing! Pursuing your own happiness is all that matters, in the end, foolish child, but you’ll learn with time. I can live here in a world filled with only the things that I love—and I _will_ live here! I don’t care if you are my child or not! I don’t care if you were loyal to me or not! I don’t care if you’re the rarest Pokémon there is in the world or not! If you’re not beautiful enough to be worthy of my love, then I don’t need you! I’m sick of you all, little pests!”

“I am the one who is sick of you, Mother! Children… are not just _things_ that belong to their parents! Pokémon are not just _things_ that a trainer can do whatever they want to! I am alive! Cosmog is alive! We’re not things for you to collect and do as you like! We’re not made for you to just discard when you get bored with us! That is terrible, Mother! You are terrible!”

“Terrible? _Me_? How am I different from you, who stole from your own mother and run away from her side? I’ll never forgive you for taking Cosmog! You were so adorable when you were little, you would listen to everything I said without question… but you and your brother just had to grow up and become ugly, defying your own mother!”

“Both Lillie and Gladio are people with their own opinions and believes! They are incredibly intelligent, kind and passionate,” you intervene, irate. “And they are better than you’ll ever be whether you chose to see it or not!”

“Enough with all your petty insolence. I grow tired of your rude nonsense, you ungrateful brats. Let me show how wrong you are—behold what I am capable of with Nihilego’s marvellous power in my hands!”

She pulls an odd-looking pokéball, blue and golden, releasing what you suspect is the Nihilego queen that Guzma mentioned earlier. The beast is bigger than the others you have seen, so much that it literally swallows Lusamine whole. She slides inside its transparent, gelatinous body like it’s a tailored suit—and before your very eyes she becomes… something else, one with the alien creature. Gasping in horror, Lillie helplessly witnesses with glassy eyes how her mother turns into a monster true to her inner twisted persona.

“Primarina!” you manage to call in time to counterattack the lash of those huge, black tentacles. Your loyal pokémon blocks the hit with a wall of water, but the impact alone pushes her backwards.

Even when you summon of all your team at once, Lusamine doesn’t show any sign of relenting, any speck of fear at all. Caught in the shock of the situation, you try to fight the deranged woman as if she was a wild pokémon but the unique implications of the battle feel utterly unethical. She is _human_. She is _your friends’ mother_. You can’t just… tell your pokémon to attack someone—fused with an alien parasite or not—without knowing whether they could severely damage her or even _kill_ her. Hands shaking with impotence, your commands to block her ruthless whipping are pitifully half-hearted and your weakened pokémon start returning to their pokéballs one after another until there’s nothing standing between you and the abomination. Arcanine makes haste to defend you with his flames but not three seconds later the dog falls like his companions before, an unresponsive Guzma dropping by your feet as he returns to his pokéball.

“No…”

Lillie’s hand grips yours as you see the dark tentacles flying towards you both, and suddenly she screams: “Help us Lunala!”

Everything that follows occurs in the blink of an eye. The legendary pokémon answers to the distress call in time to repel the fatal attack, striking Lusamine with a ring of blinding blue light that forces you deviate your gaze. Hearing your friend’s gasp, you turn around to see the beast’s body has abandoned its human host and is floating away from Lusamine’s collapsed form, emitting a high-pitched screech that freezes the blood in your veins.

Lillie immediately runs to her mother’s side but the woman barely keeps her grasp on consciousness long enough to revel in an instant of clarity and _truly_ see her beautiful, brave daughter for the first time in forever. Then she is out like a light, and you are all being surrounded by a buzzing swarm of outraged Nihilego spitting poison. The creatures keep teleporting all over the place. They are in a different spot with every blink of your eyes, and more keep coming, until all you can see is undulating white. The whole cavern seems to tremble ominously in time with them, stray rocks raining from the dark ceiling.

“Guys, I suggest we get the hell out of here… _right now_.”

Lunala shoots beams to keep the nasty beasts at bay, although they avoid them with insulting effortlessness, while Lillie helps you move Guzma onto Lunala’s back before dragging Lusamine onto the legendary pokémon as well. Making sure they won’t fall as soon as you get moving, you help the blonde girl climb up next and finally jump behind her just in the nick of time to avoid being hit by a Poison Jab.

 “Lunala, takes us back!”

Holding your breath, you close your eyes to shield them from the sparkling blue light and prepare yourself for the plunge. The air is knocked out of your lungs as you pierce the barrier between dimensions for the second time. Then Lunala is gently dropping you all onto a familiar, carved stone floor. The change on the atmosphere lifts a weight from your heart—you are home.

It’s over. You are alive.

There’s the sound of footsteps approaching. Hapu and Mudsdale. She is saying something but you are so exhausted you can’t bring yourself to open your leaden eyelids or decipher her words at all. Intuitively, your fingers seek Guzma’s warm hand, the faintest smile touching your lips in relief when he doesn’t dissolve into bickering shadows, and then you follow him into blissful oblivion.


	15. My Heart Stumbles on Things I Don't Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes.  
> I struggle to find any truth in your lies  
> And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know.  
> My weakness I feel I must finally show.
> 
> Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all  
> But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall.  
> Lend me your eyes I can change what you see.  
> But your soul you must keep, totally free."  
> Awake My Soul, by Mumford & Sons
> 
>  
> 
> I feel like I always write never-ending notes to justify myself with every new chapter.  
> Just know that I don't like my stupidly slow writing process either, haha.  
> I'm afraid the end is drawing near. I don't know how many chapters yet, but... yeah. Then I'll do some serious editing to make sure I wrap this up offering the best possible version. I never expected this story to become so big (I mean, almost 2000 kudos - I love you guys!)  
> I'm working on a couple of one-shots on the side and thinking on my next projects, but I hope to update as soon as possible.

Drifting in that nebulous state of mind that lingers somewhere between asleep and waking, you reach in the dark for the very last thing you can tangibly remember—a hand, big, warm and comforting, intertwined with yours—but you can’t find it. Then the pungent odour of antiseptic hits you hard, welcoming you back into the real world from a deep, dreamless slumber.

The disgustingly familiar and unmistakable scent burning your eyes, the intermittent beeping of machines and the overwhelming abuse of the colour white quickly reveal this must be the umpteenth—and, you hope from the bottom of your heart, the _last_ —time you wake up in a hospital bed this year. Be that as it may, underneath the initial annoyance risen by this realization and the undeniable fatigue amassed over the last stressful weeks tap-dancing on the line between life and death, you don’t feel nearly half as bad as you would have anticipated. Quite on the contrary, in some strange sense, you feel better than you have felt in who knows how long.

Memories of another world rush to the front of your mind in a colourful and terrifying slideshow. It takes some time to wrap your head around the notion that you survived such an insane situation, that Guzma is back, and that you’re _alive_ and _whole_ and hopefully on the road to be yourself again… but it feels good. You breathe in that foul hodgepodge of hospital aromas, contentedly.

The joyous fluttering of your heart mimicking a bird trying to escape the prison of your ribcage startles you for a shocking instant, so accustomed to the dull and sluggish melody of the organ when you believed there was a black hole eating away its rightful place in your chest. Clumsily, your fingers slide down the wide neckline of the hospital gown to touch your soulmate mark, almost fearfully, to feel that pleasant tingling once more as you trace the curving lines from the initial G to the final A—no longer strokes of fire etched onto your skin with a knife, screaming danger, even if they still feel abnormal somewhat. What remains of the vicious emptiness is little more than a dark dot, an irritating itch lost in the comfort of the silvery stitches that mended your soul together. It stands as a powerful, dangerous reminder of what could have been and what could still happen if you were to test the strength of the bond ever again. You have so much to discuss with Guzma, so many uncertainties to elucidate about your rocky relationship. Somehow you sailed through one storm, losing your way more than a couple of times before reaching a safe harbour, but there will come more times of hardship in the future and then the shadows will snatch the briefest moment of distraction to drag you to the depths of that unfathomable dark ocean.

It’s one truth you simply cannot ignore. That depressing thought alone makes you shudder with dread, but you don’t want to lose a second more dwelling in worry and sorrow if you can help it. Even so, you can’t dismiss the sensation that something feels off and the urge to find out why you can’t simply lay back, relax, and think about everything you’re going to do once you leave this place—have ice-cream with your friends at the beach, go back to training with your pokémon, re-connect with your family, hopefully right the wrongs with Guzma and start over as a couple, for real this time… But there’s something holding back that peace of mind.

Beset by a sudden and frantic need to leave that bed and all that offensive, blinding whiteness behind, you almost rip the IV affixed to your arm trying to get up. _Right, that annoying thing is always there and I always forget_. Your hand twitches with the fleeting thought of yanking the needle off yourself but, exhaling heavily through your nose, you will yourself into some semblance of patience and reach for the call button hanging from a cable over the headboard. You don’t have to wait long before someone shows up, the rhythmic clicking of heels on the tiled floor announcing their arrival—not a nurse like you expected, but a doctor.

The tall dark-coloured woman in the long white coat must be in her early thirties and wears her curly hair tied back into a tight bun on the nape of her neck. While you’re positively burning with anxiety, tapping your fingers on the mattress, she looks almost insultingly calm as she takes a moment to finish reading the file in her hands, and another one to push up the frameless glasses that have slid down the bridge of her nose, before gazing up with a small smile.

“You’re awake. Good!” she observes lightly. Her voice is deep and agreeable to the ear, with that lilting Alolan accent you have grown fond of over the last months. There’s something about the woman that feels sincere and trustworthy at first sight, even if her overly relaxed demeanour is quickly getting to your nerves. “That’s really good, indeed,” she scribbles something and puts the clipboard down. “Oh, right, sorry—I’m Doctor Arana, in case you were wondering, and we are in Hau’oli Hospital. It’s around…” she spares a quick look at her elegant wristwatch. “Eleven in the morning. Hope you had a nice, restful nap. Is anything hurting?”

The information flies around your head. _Hau’oli?_ It feels like forever since you last set foot in Melemele. It’s closer to Poni than any other island, so it sort of makes sense they brought you here.

“Nice to, eh, meet you, doctor. I feel fine, although… sorry but, can you take this thing out of my arm? It’s starting to itch,” you rise the limb in question.

“Don’t worry, they’ll take care of that in a minute. Try to be a little patient.”

You sigh, lowering the arm again to your side. “How long was I out? Is everyone else alright? Are they here?”

“My, you’re full of questions for someone who just woke up! It’s okay, I understand. First… how long?” she repeats to herself, stepping closer to inspect the reading on the monitors, muttering a string of observations under her breath. “It’s been a little over thirty hours since you arrived. The traces of poison we found might have something to do with the prolonged loss of consciousness but, overall, your body seriously needed the rest so we’re calling it a small victory. Professor Burnet was kind enough to warn us about the condition of your bond when they rolled you in… but, well, that problem seems to have taken care of itself.”

 _Fortunately_.

“So, everything’s fine? Are you sure?”

“As far as I can tell, you’re fit as a fiddle, hon,” she answers.

“And I can leave, just like that?” you arch an eyebrow.

“We’ll be releasing you this afternoon,” the doctor nods. “Kukui, Burnet and your young friends will most likely drop by in time. They’ve been around, all nervous and worried, the poor things.”

You release a breath of relief. “That’s nice to hear.”

“You’re always welcome to stay one more night if you’d prefer to, but an extra empty bed is always precious to a hospital. Just make sure to eat properly and catch up on those lost sleep hours, and don’t push yourself too much.” She pauses to add with a soft chuckle: “I mean, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t mind keeping you here a little longer and run some tests on your soulmate bond. Not everyone’s able to survive a situation such as the one you went through—you and your significant other really must be something else.”

“We… we’re complicated.”

“Huh. Who isn’t, honey?” her full lips draw a lopsided smirk. “I mean, what’s the point if you can’t have an interesting story to tell about how you met your soulmate?”

“I… guess so? Though I’m not sure I share that point of view after what I just went through to—,” you catch yourself mid-sentence, brow freezing and then furrowing with suspicion. “Wait a moment, you never answered my other questions. What’s wrong? Is Guzma’s here as well? I want to see him.”

The passing shadow of uncertainty that flashes over her face doesn’t go unnoticed, clear and grave enough to twist something inside you. “Okay, let’s do something. I’ll give you some answers now, but the rest must wait until you rest a bit more,” she states, the protest brewing on your tongue transforming into an unceremonious _oomph_ as the doctor gently but firmly pushes you back against the pillows. “Doctor orders.”

“… Where is he?”

“I can confirm your soulmate _is_ in this hospital and, as long as you don’t go sharing this information with the media, I can confirm the president of Aether is here too. Now, let’s make a deal—I’ll take you to see him, but you’ll have to be a good girl and put some food in your stomach first.”

“But he—”

Doctor Arana’s friendliness slips for the first time since she walked through the door, voice turning so cold you can’t help but shiver a bit. “He’s not going anywhere, and neither are you until I sign some papers. Remember that you’re still my patient. So, I suggest you sit back, enjoy your breakfast and _then_ we’ll take a little walk around. Sounds good? I’ll leave you to that now.”

A scarce three minutes after she leaves, heels clicking away almost mockingly, a nurse rolls in a metallic cart. Not knowing what is going on obliterates whatever appetite you might have had, twisting a painful knot in the pit of your stomach. Without a speck of enthusiasm, you force yourself to gulf down the bland porridge handed to you on a tray along with a bowl of diced fruit and a generous glass of water. In the meantime, the nurse proceeds to finally remove the intravenous line from your arm. You wince slightly as the needle comes out, then withstand as the woman presses down on the tiny hole it leaves on your skin with a piece of cotton for a couple of minutes to cease any bleeding. After that, while you finish swallowing the last few pieces of fruit salad—inwardly marvelling, albeit reluctantly, at the explosion of flavours you hadn’t been able to truly enjoy for a long while—, she places some folded clothes on the bed and a pair of familiar sporty sneakers by the bedside table. Then she takes away the empty plates and rolls the cart away, leaving you alone to get dressed. You immediately recognize the garments as part of your personal wardrobe—a simple pair of jeans and a light-coloured t-shirt with a cute Drifloon pattern you haven’t worn in ages—and deduce Lillie must have brought them over from the luggage you left behind at Heahea.

Anything’s better than the uncomfortably revealing hospital gown.

“I see you’re all set already,” you don’t sense Doctor Arana approach until you hear her voice behind you. She’s standing by the threshold, apparently back to her previous light-hearted self. “Alright, a promise is a promise… We can go whenever you feel ready.”

“Give me a sec.”

You finish lacing up the sneakers and stand upright, testing your balance by walking a short straight line parallel to the bed before deciding your legs are strong enough to hold your weight without problem. It feels strange not to be ridiculously weakened and exhausted, after spending day after day emulating a walking corpse. Satisfied as well with the display, Doctor Arana beckons you over with her clipboard and you follow her out of the room.

She doesn’t utter a word as you walk through a maze of unnervingly white and silent hallways, humming tunelessly under her breath until you reach the elevators. They need to be able to fit a stretcher—or more—inside if the occasion demands it, and so there’s a ridiculous amount of free space around your bodies. It’s a bit unnerving, all things considered. You fold your hands in front of you, practically vibrating with anxiousness. Once the polished doors slide closed and the doctor presses the circular button that will take you to the upper floors, she heaves a deep, deep breath and turns to you with the most stern, professional face you have ever seen and you just _know_ you won’t like what is to come.

“Before we reach our destination, there are a few things you should be aware of.”

A voice snickers inside your mind—your foreboding was spot-on, as usual. _Don’t tell me I didn’t get there on time._

“Just… say it. Please.”

Nodding grimly, the doctor complies with a duty that you sense brings her no joy. “Three people arrived unconscious to this hospital and, if there were traces of poison in your system from a mere scratch, it’s nothing compared to what we have found in your companions’. I can only share as much information freely but they were severely intoxicated, since we presume they were in prolonged and direct contact with the alien entities. In fact, Burnet’s initial theory is they only survived that long in the unconventional conditions of Ultra Space due to the symbiotic nature of the specimens known as Nihilego. The new president of Aether has graciously lent us their confidential intel on the Ultra Beasts and everything points towards this theory. The creatures seemingly keep their hosts alive as they use their bodies… but it takes a dreadful toll on them.”

Every word that adds up to the shocking explanation feels like a harrowing stab to your still convalescent heart. But, even so, you can’t shake the feeling that she’s beating around the bush and the worst is yet to be told. “I don’t really get what are you trying to say. What’s wrong with them? They’re… _alive_ , right?”

“They are alive, yes.”

“So?”

 “It’s more complicated than that, I’m afraid. Remember how you were unconscious for almost two days just from a poisoned scratch?” she starts, voice dragging with uneasiness. The pause that ensues weighs like a tombstone. You can barely supress the impulse to scream at the doctor to shut the hell up and, at the same time, to grab the lapels of her stupid white coat and demand that she fucking tell you what’s going on. And then she says it. “The elevated number of toxins in their bloodstream have put them into a coma.”

The last word echoes within the suffocating cubicle that is the elevator.

“… What?” The appalled whisper tumbles out of your lips and leaves you breathless. Your head begins spinning so wildly you have to hurry and put a hand on the wall to stay upright.

After everything you went through, all the obstacles, all the pain, when you were starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel… this happens. It has to be a joke. It has to be a lie.

 “I’m terribly sorry to deliver the bad news but, as his soulmate, you’re legally entitled to be informed of the situation. I thought you should know. Right now, we can only wait and hope for the best turnout,” she exhales, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. It weights like lead and does nothing but add another layer of discomfort to the maelstrom of ugly feelings whirling like a hurricane within your chest. “If it’s any consolation, I feel optimistic about this. We’re working on extracting the remaining toxins from his blood as we speak and we’ll do everything in our power to bring him back. For all we know, this may just be a storm in a teacup and he will wake up in a couple of days.”

Thoughts reeling chaotically, you swallow bile. “C-Can I see him?”

“Yes, of course, hon. We’re almost there.”

The sudden _ding_ of the elevator’s doors opening reverberates like the ominous tolling of a bell against the walls of your suddenly heavy skull. The silent saunter along another white and nondescript corridor feels like that of a prisoner walking the green mile in their way to the gallows. At this precise moment in time, you find yourself sincerely wishing your emotions were still dead and buried deep in the fathomless darkness so that you didn’t have to feel the utter and devastating hopelessness taking hold of your body, mind and soul.

The small part of your brain that struggles to persist clear and coherent in the face of adversity tries to re-assure you somehow, to find the bright side of the situation—if there is one.

_Guzma is strong._

He is.

_He’s lived through an awful lot and he will get out of this one, too._

He will.

You almost succeed in convincing yourself.

Repeating those words over and over like a mantra, gaze lost in the achromatic floor tiles, you mindlessly allow your feet to carry you after the fast _click-clack_ of the doctor’s footsteps past obscured windows and locked doors.

The abrupt commotion of a door slamming against a wall makes you flinch and jump a little, the noise too loud for the serene and drowsy atmosphere of the hospital. Looking ahead, you discern a middle-aged couple walking out of the room at the end of the hallway. The man has a stocky build and wears an angry scowl. The woman is petite and plump, trailing behind who you assume is her husband with a grimace of infinite sorrow. As they come closer, you notice in her eyes that she must have been crying recently. Her reddened gaze meets yours for an instant and you think it results oddly familiar, even though you don’t remember ever meeting her.

It makes you uneasy.

“Oh, that’s… I didn’t know they had finally answered our calls,” you hear Doctor Arana mutter, frowning slightly. You stay a bit behind, blinking away the dizziness of your inner turmoil as she approaches the couple and formally addresses them. “Excuse me—sir, ma’am—but I assume you must be Guzma’s parents.”

Those last words have you snapping out of the haze, sharp and alert. You look at them a bit more attentively, taking in new details, even silently condemning them because of the things you know about Guzma’s younger years—which are not many but are definitely horrible.

“I’m your son’s doctor. I apologize but nobody told me you would be here today. If you give me a moment, I’d like to discuss—”

But the man snorts loudly, the noise cutting rudely through the doctor’s speech. “Don’t bother. We were already leaving.”

“Please, excuse us…” you here the woman mumble, apologetically.

“But, sir, your son is gravely—”

“He’s exactly where he deserves to be,” he rudely interrupts the doctor. “I have nothing to discuss with you.”

Your body seemingly moves on its own, just like when Lusamine blatantly insulted Guzma in your face, to take a step sideways and block the man’s way. “What did you just say?”

He looks down at you, and you can almost see the wheels in his head turning as he tries to understand who you are and why you are talking to him like that. You can even see the exact moment in which understanding strikes him like a truck.

“Good grief… The rumours were true. You’re _her_ , aren’t you? His stupid soulmate,” he scoffs, spiting the word like it’s something disgusting caught on his tongue. “I pity you, girl. Forever tied to someone like him.” He ends with a derisive laugh.

The offensive sound has you balling your fists so hard at your sides that your fingernails hurt the palms of your hands. “On the contrary, I think I pity _you_ for not being able to appreciate your own son. Now that I finally got to meet you in person, I really am glad he ran away from your side.”

“Yeah, to become a good-for-nothing delinquent!”

“No. To forge his own path, free from your vile claws,” you shoot back. “Don’t look so high and mighty. You can’t deceive me. I’ve seen them—I've seen the scars you created, and even felt the damage that cannot be seen, you _monster_. I could call the police on your sorry ass right fucking now! Yes, Guzma has made some pretty questionable decisions, but haven’t we all? It’s human to make mistakes. And I’ll help him right those wrongs in whatever way I can. You, however, cannot be redeemed.”

“You little…” he snarls, raising a fist over his head.

“Sir, I must ask you to leave the hospital. Right now,” Doctor Arana sternly intervenes. “And believe me, this warning is all the courtesy you’ll receive before I call security. If you insist on threatening and perturbing the restfulness of my patients I might be inclined to believe this girl’s testimony and leave the police deal with this matter—but I don’t think that’s in your best interest, is it?”

The throbbing vein on his temple looks close to exploding as the man lowers his hand, face so red with furious powerlessness it might as well be purple. “Mark my words, brat—you’ll regret this.”

Perhaps it’s the fact that you are defending Guzma and not just yourself, but you feel brave enough to take a step closer to the monster of a man and look him right in the eye, unwavering. “You don’t scare me in the slightest, _sir_. You’re disgusting. I assure you, if you ever think about hurting your son again you’ll be the one asking for mercy.”

Cursing you under his breath, he stomps off. The seconds he disappears from the hallway, the air palpably lightens. The woman also seems to relax, approaching you with an uncertain but hopeful expression.

“Thank you for bringing him back, sweet girl. I’m glad he found you at last. I’m so glad he’s not alone.”

“I… I don’t really think he was alone before I came along, ma’am. He has some pretty good friends out there. There’s people who really care about him.”

“That’s good to hear,” she smiles warmly. “Please, take care of my boy. I know it’s not easy to deal with him sometimes but… he really isn’t a bad person.”

“I know.”

Apparently, that’s everything she needed to hear. Her plump arms envelop you in a brief but heartfelt embrace that holds a kind of gratitude that cannot be put into words, then in letting go she squeezes your hand affectionately before releasing you altogether, and your—to all effects—mother-in-law scurries after her dreadful excuse of a husband. You wish you could do something about that.

“That was… unexpected. I’m sorry, I didn’t know this would happen,” apologizes the doctor. “Are you alright?”

“… Not really.”

She sighs. “Do you want to see him now?”

“Please.”

The room in which he rests seems darker in an array of diverse meanings. It’s more than the general lack of light and the eerie glow of the screens, something that lingers on the air. The sole bed is occupied by the shell of a young man that looks and doesn’t look like Guzma all at once. The appalling sight of all those machines connected to his inert body—tubes, wires and needles on his arms, on his chest, on his forehead—brings tears to your eyes. Guzma seems so pale, so weak, so unlike himself, much worse than the already decimated version of him you found in Ultra Space. The dark roots of his hair are gaining ground on the white in which you could interpret as some sort of twisted metaphor.

Your body slumps on the plastic chair that someone has pulled next to the bed and, trembling all over, you reach to take one his hands between both of yours and his skin is cold under your fingers, unfamiliar. The lack of response breaks your wretched heart a little bit more. You don’t even notice when the doctor leaves you alone with him, closing the door quietly as to not disturb the scene.

They find you just like that, hours later, curled up on the chair with your knees brought up to your chest and his hand securely clasped between yours. Professor Kukui says nothing as he approaches the bed where his old friend lays oblivious to the world and wraps a comforting arm around your shoulders, and neither does Lillie as she appears on your other side, although she can’t contain an ugly sob. When you refuse to move for another good twenty minutes, they see sensible to drag you from Guzma’s side, at least for a while. Despite your firm protests, your stomach agrees with their idea of eating something more substantial than the deplorable hospital grub.

After you get officially released from the hospital, the professor expresses his intention of treating you to a nice restaurant by the beachfront. Hau stayed behind to save the best table, out in the terrace. He greets you with one of his trademark smiles but seems to catch himself, all of a sudden, and correct his expression to not appear overly happy. You get it—they expected for this occasion to be a celebration of your recovery, but you see no point on celebrating anything. Guiltiness adds to the pile of nasty emotions swirling in your chest. Thus, you munch in relative silence, looking out to the ocean while feeling your friends’ gazes heavy on you at all times. Sad, sympathetic, concerned. They attempt to make small conversation and you indulge them from time to time, but your thoughts are not there with you.

The food is great and, on the whole, the small reunion is a nice respite from everything. You missed your friends and you missed feeling like a normal person. However, as soon as your fork and knife touch the empty plate, you excuse yourself to return to the hospital before visiting hours are over. You will probably ask for permission to sleep either in Guzma's room—even if you have to deal with that dismal plastic chair—or a vacant one close to it. 

Kukui offers to walk you there, using the alone time to have a word. He wants to know how you truly feel, to make sure you know you’re not alone in this, and to invite you over to his lab if you need to talk with someone. You’re almost at the hospital’s entrance when he asks the question that has been tumbling around inside your head for an eternity. “What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know.”


	16. Counting the Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “In the shallowest part of the night while you quietly slept,  
> I lay here and I counted the hours to the sound of your breath.”  
> While You Were Asleep, by OK Go  
>  
> 
> i HATE this ????????????  
> I feel horrible for giving you a pointless filler chapter which isn't even that well-written after such a long wait but it's like I can't do better right now (I've tried but if I re-read this one more time I might delete the whole thing).  
> Between the heat of the summer and... I don't even know... my brain is kinda dead. Maybe I need to take it easy for a while. I'm a bit saturated with this story because I've never written anything so long and I didn't even planned the whole thing properly, which makes me unable to unsee all the mistakes in there.  
> But, gosh, there's so many of you reading this and leaving kudos and stuff... I still can't believe it, haha. Sorry for the unnecessary rant. ;;

The world has become a strange place.

It feels as though some almighty being had hit pause, all those weeks you spent helpless and powerless to do much besides waiting for the bond to severe completely, and now the dam has broken and life is rushing like the overwhelming flood of a river contained for too long to compensate for the lost time while Guzma is locked away in a timeless space of his own which you cannot reach.

But the statement runs deeper than that. If you think back to the beginning, before coming to Alola to live an adventure, before leaving home in a whim… yes, the world has definitely become a strange place, at least for the person you used to be. Everything is different, in many senses. You have changed. Your life, in general, has changed in ways you hadn’t foreseen. Because of the journey itself or because finding your soulmate suddenly turned the world upside down. What you wanted, the way you think, nothing is like it was before, and you’re oddly okay with that.

If only everything was fine. But there’s always something amiss.

The tiny possibility of your soulmate never waking up, for starters.

The dreaded nightmares have vanished at last, replaced by hollow dreams filled with static like that of an old television that leave you confused and restless upon waking in the morning. You sleep but it feels like running through a maze every night. If you gather enough strength to push through the curtain of white noise, you swear you can see Guzma. Well, not exactly _him_ , per se, but what you have come to identify as his soul―a flickering shred of silver in the dark, like the phantom flame that persists in the centre of your vision after staring directly at a light for a prolonged time. Sometimes it’s his full silhouette, tall and familiar. Sometimes it’s a speck of silvery dust. You can definitely feel his presence within your mind, albeit faint, and find some solace in knowing that he’s still there, somewhere nearby. That connection itself keeps you optimistic, rooted to the earth. The mark doesn’t hurt, like it did during other crises before. It remains peacefully dormant, which makes you theorize maybe the danger it’s not so incredibly great, that maybe his body just needs time and rest. At least, that’s what you have chosen to believe as to preserve your sanity.

And all the while, you are suspended in your particular kind of limbo. Caught between the overpowering need to do something― _anything_ ―and the manifest impossibility to solve the problem. It’s frustrating to think how you have been running around helping people practically since you set foot in Alola, but every single time _you_ need help, there’s virtually nothing that can be done. Even when Guzma followed Lusamine into the wormhole, against all odds you found a way to go after him, but now… you can’t reach him now, no matter what you do, and you’re trying really hard to come to terms with that distressing idea.

The first week you spend in that gloomy room, glued to his side, clutching his lifeless hand between yours and pleading to whatever deity feels like listening for those fathomless stormy eyes to open. The nights are especially long and awful. You tell him whatever silly story comes to mind and read the daily newspapers the nurses bring you aloud, thinking maybe he will hear and react; in random moments of exasperation, you resort to insulting his inert body—and then you feel guilty and ask for his forgiveness. You brush the growing, darkening curls away from his forehead and tie them into a messy bicolour knot atop his head. Dark stubble has started covering his chin, transforming his over-all appearance dramatically.

The days are busier, with people coming in and out, meaningless walks around the white hallways and fruitless attempts to order your thoughts.

On the evening of the seventh day, they succeed in moving you from the uncomfortable plastic chair to an actual bed in the Pokémon Centre down the road for whatever sleep hours you’re able to catch before waking up with the sun and heading out again. Every morning, you return to the hospital and, every morning, nothing seems to change. Guzma remains comatose, hanging by a thread, the silver wisp immutable in a distant corner of your mental palace, and you keep growing wearier, your anxiety mounting. The alien toxins are mostly gone from his bloodstream and even though the doctors are confident in the odds, in the end all you can do is wait.

 _Wait_ , they tell you. _Wait_. But, how are you supposed to do _nothing_? In the dead of the night, you close your eyes tightly, reach out for that flame and call out his name into the nothingness to help him find the way back home. Hopefully, he will hear your voice and follow the trail of breadcrumbs.

People you had not seen nearly since your arrival at the islands drop by to see how you’re faring, like Kahuna Hala and Ilima, the first captain you faced. Every visit provides a small breather, their kind words restoring a little bit of your wilting will-power. Professor Kukui is always nearby, checking on Guzma’s progress as much as on your own, making sure you take care of yourself. His wife drops by once or twice as well, checking and discussing any fluctuations of the soulmate bond with Doctor Arana, her old colleague. Hau brings malasadas from time to time. Lillie is also half-living in the hospital, sleeping in the lab’s loft once again, but you seldom see her―of course, you can’t forget Lusamine is also hospitalized, probably in an even more critical state. No, you are not alone in the slightest, but you feel quite lonely nonetheless.

What you certainly hadn’t expected was to see Guzma’s mother again, so soon, after your bumpy introduction. She comes by a couple of times, although you can tell she’s sneaking out of the house behind her husband’s back. You fear the poor woman will face any consequences with the monster of a man but she assures you everything’s alright and you feel already too overwhelmed by the circumstances as to argue the authenticity of that statement. She stops by on her way back from shopping groceries one morning, stays only five minutes, crying quietly as she watches over his son, and leaves before it gets too late. On another occasion, she brings a thick dusty photo album under her arm and you treat her to a cup of tea downstairs, listening attentively to old stories as she shows you pictures depicting different stages of Guzma’s youth. And then she starts crying again.

However unkind on your part it may be, at some point you start growing sick of hearing the exact same words from a hundred different mouths, no matter their good will. _I’m sorry this happened_. _I’m sorry you have to go through this_. You almost think someone said _I’m sorry he’s your soulmate_ but it might have been exhaustion playing with your bitterness. And then there’s the endless, acrimonious pieces of advice; some coming from other people, some read between the lines, and some spat by your own inner voice. _Have you thought about going on with your life? He’s going to be asleep for a while, you know_. _Did you even complete the island challenge?_ _Have you suddenly lost interest on training or what? You’re neglecting your pokémon. And what about your research? You were so close to truly achieving something for once!_

But perhaps worst of all is trying to comfort Golisopod, your dutiful and devastated companion in this harrowing vigil. The gigantic bug can be found curled up next to his master at any time of day or night, crying quietly. It’s as heart-breaking a sight as you have ever seen. Guzma’s pokémon were brought in at the same time as your party, taken care of, and then handed to Professor Kukui bearing the thought that his lab would be the best shelter for them in the meantime. However, as soon as he was called out of his pokéball, Golisopod made clear that he wouldn’t leave his trainer’s side for anything in the world. He wouldn’t let anyone else approach the bed, either; not even you, until you managed to calm him down and he apparently remembered you. All the same, he views you as an enemy of sorts, first and foremost, and he only tolerates your company because of what ties you to his master—and because of the pokébeans in your bag—although he seems to get along with Primarina just fine.

And so you and Golisopod wait in the gloomy room together, guarding Guzma’s sleep.

 

* * *

 

Nearing the end of the second tortuous week of uncertainty and brain racking, you are on your way to the hospital early in the morning, sipping on a take-away cup of coffee from a new shop they opened next to the Marina, to find quite the ruckus unravelling in the middle of the lobby.

You blink, dumbfounded, and take a slow sip from the paper cup as you let the fresh shot of caffeine clear your reception of the scene.

You would recognize those bright fuchsia and blonde pigtails anywhere, even with the changes their owner has applied to her attire, which no longer brandish any evident affiliation to the infamous gang she administered—all the skull imagery is gone, including the tattoo on her bare abdomen. Plumeria stands, arms crossed over her chest, surrounded by five heads with fading blue and pink hair; not many but certainly enough to create the illusion of a small crowd; arguing heatedly with the very frightened nurse behind the reception counter. Even though Team Skull has not been active in any way since the fiasco of Aether Paradise, at least a third of their members imprisoned and another disappeared, the general public still fears them. Before all of this, they were just troublemakers, at best, but their involvement in Lusamine’s evil scheme rightfully earned them the label of criminals. You’re shocked, and somewhat concerned, to see them walking around in broad daylight so carelessly.

“Look, lady,” you hear Plumeria raise her voice and then lower it, groaning lightly—an admirable exercise in containing the vexation crawling beneath the surface. She’s beyond impatient, you would say she’s desperate. “I’m not looking for trouble here. We just want to see our boss, _one minute_ , and then we’ll be out of your hair. Just like that. You people won’t event tell us what’s going on, you—! _Dammit_!”

Brow furrowing in alarm, you approach the counter with swift strides and come to a halt by Plumeria’s side. She can barely conceal the surprise, her stylized eyebrows going up and disappearing under the hem of the grey Salazzle-themed bandana wrapped around the top of her head. “It’s alright. They’re with me.”

“B-but, miss, we can’t allow these… _people_ … to―” the nurse stutters.

You shake your head. “Hold me responsible if you need to. Tell Doctor Arana, I don’t mind,” you speak calmly, as to assuage the tension in the air. “They’ve got a right to see their friend, don’t they? Just like anyone else. So… I’m going to take them upstairs for a bit and then they’ll leave like they promised, no harm done. There’s no need to involve the police in this.”

The nurse nods, nervously, and as you walk away you see her fumbling with the telephone’s speaker, most likely complying with your suggestion of informing her superiors anyway. You hope your intimidation powers worked and the police doesn’t show up.

“You should be a politician, girl,” murmurs Plumeria, falling into step with you. “You’d kick ass.”

“Heaven forbid,” you snort amusedly.

Once the elevator’s doors close with you lot inside, shielding you from prying eyes, she pulls you into a hug. Taken aback, you almost drop your coffee, but return the embrace, finding you probably needed it as much as Plumeria. She’s trembling. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t make it sooner. All hell broke loose and I didn’t even know you were here. What the hell happened? And G… h-how bad is it?”

You tense within the hug, dropping your arms altogether. “Well I… I found him. He made it back. He’s alive,” you promise in the softest, steadiest voice you can muster. She releases the air she had been holding, relaxing a little in your embrace. Then comes the difficult part. “And I really wish that was all there was to say, but… there’s more. Unfortunately.”

She takes a step back, looking you straight in the eye with those piercing amber orbs. She heaves a shaky sigh. “I guess those were the good news. So, the bad…?”

“Okay,” you clear your throat. “That place, the Ultra Dimension, it’s fucked up alright. Those beasts are more dangerous than we could’ve thought and, when I found Guzma, he was very sick. He couldn’t even tell if I was real at all. It was… awful. I can hardly believe he survived in there for a fucking month, to be honest. But, it turns out, it was actually the Nihilego keeping them alive while they used them as hosts somehow and, well, they’re highly venomous.” A pause. “His body has been fighting off the poisoning for a while and right now he’s stable, according to the doctors. But, you see, he’s… he’s not exactly _here_.”

“How is he not here? He’s not in the hospital?”

It’s your turn to take a deep breath. “N-no, he’s here alright but he’s… in a coma. Has been for almost two weeks. Could be for many more. Nobody can tell for sure when he’ll wake up but everything points out that he _will_ wake up, so… I-I’m trying to be hopeful.”

She doesn’t say anything for a while but you see her facial expression change several times and her fists clench and unclench by her side while she mulls over the unexpected information. The thick silence is filled by the gasps and sobs of the ex-grunts at hearing the depressing news. You mouth a heartfelt “sorry” and then the elevator dings and stops, doors opening.

Golisopod is over the moon when he sees them entering the room. He nearly crushes the first grunt that crosses the door between his claws. The reunion lightens the atmosphere for a moment, all of you laughing softly. You’re pleased to see the poor pokémon being genuinely happy for the first time since you have been there, if only for some minutes. But then everyone’s eyes fall on Guzma’s unconscious body, and a cloud of sadness and silence spreads like mist, heavy and damp, over the group.

You step out onto the hallway, thinking they deserve some time alone with him. After five minutes staring out the row of windows at the far end of the corridor, Plumeria joins you, wiping tears and splotches of ruined mascara off her cheeks the back of her hand.

“Thanks for standing up for us back there. And thanks for bringing him back to us.”

“Anytime,” your lips curl in a weak smile. “How… how’s everything going in Po Town?”

“It’s… pretty bad. That old man Nanu gave us a head start before the police burst through the gates and cordoned the area off. We had to leave. And now, between the poor guys in jail and those who run away to who-knows-where, I’m running out of lil’ sisters and brothers,” she laments, shaking her head. “Gladion’s trying to help us but he has to deal with the mess at Aether, too. He’s a good kid. Sent some lawyers our way and everything… but they couldn’t do much.”

You frown. “Where are you staying?”

“I rented a trailer at the park near Haina Desert. It’s not much but we’ve got a roof over our heads. We make do with a couple pokémon battles a day and the money we had left from Lusamine’s payments.”

“If you need anything—”

She huffs, smiling. “I’m okay, girly, we’re tough guys. You’ve done enough already. But… are _you_ okay?”

“Getting there,” you reply. “I know there isn’t much I can do right now but I don’t want to leave his side either.”

“Look, I know he is your mate and all, and after that crazy stuff you must be afraid, I get it. I’m scared as hell, too. But you don’t have to throw your life away and stay here. G won’t be alone, if that’s your concern. There’s those stupid doctors, there’s your little annoying friends, and there’s us,” she points a finger to herself. “You know that. He wouldn’t like to hear about what you’re doing to yourself, so… don’t.”

“Yeah, but…”

“I’ll come by as often as possible, alright? So, please, go and complete the stupid challenge, get some air, I don’t know, buy yourself some nice clothes or whatever, do _something_ else than sitting there and wait. Just… get out of this hospital for a while. You need it. Really, he’ll be fine.”

You don’t answer.

“Hey, cheer up, girly,” she nudges your arm. “I’m sure you’ve done enough crying already. Come on, _you fucking did it_! I don’t even know how, but you found him. You went to another world! He’s here only thanks to you! G will wake up eventually, when he’s strong enough. He’s probably just taking the longest nap ever to make us all worry, the lazy bastard.”

That makes you laugh a little, and underneath all the sorrow she seems somewhat pleased.

For some reason or another, Team Skull’s visit lingers in your mind long after they leave. The hospital personnel was not happy with the episode but, in the end, everything went smoothly—and you only received a brief earful from the doctor.

Several hours later, when you meet with the professor for lunch in the cafeteria like every odd day, you’re still digesting Plumeria’s words.

There’s no denying that Professor Kukui has been your rock in this storm, so to speak. Through every problem you’ve faced since you arrived to the unknown region, in fact. He’s always been there with a pocketful of small talk to ease your mind and a word of advice or two. Which is admirable, since you can tell this whole situation has him worried sick beyond his wits.

Not only is he concerned for your well-being, as mentor, but for Guzma’s condition at the same time. After all, they used to be childhood friends slash rivals; they grew up together and studied together; and you know the professor always held an eye open in the gang leader’s general direction to check that train didn’t go off the rails completely. He was the first person to notice something was going on between you and Guzma, the first to know about the whole soulmate ordeal, the first to offer assistance or guidance, but you had never taken a second to think about how Guzma is someone important to him—and he trusted you wholeheartedly from the first moment to take care of his old friend, even when you loathed the mere thought of him. He’s been a teacher, a friend and a confidant. You owe the professor an awful lot. That’s why you feel compelled to voice your concerns to him once again.

“Did the doctors have anything new to say?” he asks, stabbing at the food in his plate with the fork.

“Not really. He’s still… sleeping,” you sigh. “I can tell he’s not in any immediate danger but I don’t know what to think or what to do anymore. It’s been weeks. It could be months. I’m confident that he will wake up, I really am, but I’ve been having these thoughts lately that I can’t keep… living like this, in the hospital, waiting. Maybe it’s selfish? I feel horribly selfish.”

He seems surprised, for a moment, and then he smiles almost sadly. “No, it’s not selfish at all. Actually, I’m glad you’re thinking about this”, he tilts his head to the side, sensing your doubting. “You’re not abandoning him, if that’s what you think. He’s in good hands, and there’s nothing we can do for him right now.”

“Plumeria said that, too.”

He falls quiet for a few seconds, putting his utensils down. “Yeah, I heard they were around here. Is everything alright on that front?”

“They’re having it hard, but they’re capable and they’ve got each other,” you explain. “Police kicked them out of their hideout. Maybe they’ll return, I don’t know. I can’t tell what Guzma will do once he wakes up.”

“Neither do I, to be honest. But I feel for those kids, getting caught in that kind of ugly mess,” he sighs deeply. “I’ll try to put a word in to the captains and kahunas, see if there’s something we can do.”

“I’d appreciate that. And I’m sure so would they.”

During the whole meal, you have been fiddling with the sparkling Z-ring around your wrist, thumbing the empty space where a stone is missing. The fairy type, you concluded after counting them all. Then there’s the wooden amulet still hanging from your bag’s strap, taunting you.

You break the silence again, elaborating on your previous statement. “I’ve been thinking a lot this morning and… _if_ I were to leave for a while… maybe it would be useful if I returned to Poni Island. My team needs some serious dusting off and it seemed a good place for training, you know. Lots of trainers, lots of pokémon. Plus, I sort of passed all the island trials except _one_ and I really want to get that last Z-stone. Someone told me there’s this travelling artist who wanders around Poni and will give you one if you beat her in a battle.”

“Yeah, that would be Mina. Peculiar gal, a free spirit. Doesn’t like to be tied down to one place. Her paintings sell for thousands in Kalos and Unova but she lives on the road with the barest luxuries. She never got to set up an actual trial but she’s always up for a battle,” he rambles, scratching his chin. Then, his lips draw a wide grin. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, cousin. Get back on your feet… Yeah, I’ll have the League all prepared for whenever you are ready to face the final challenge. Just say the word.”

“I think I really have to do this, that I want to as well, but… then I doubt again. What if he wakes up and I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I’m nowhere to be found?”

His hand falls atop yours across the table, squeezing reassuringly. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be the first person to know when he wakes up.”

“Okay… yeah, that’s probably right,” you smile weakly, bringing your hand to your heart, over the mark. It pulses softly. “And then I’ll be the first person to slap him on the face for being so foolish.”

Kukui laughs wholeheartedly, leaning back on his chair. “Now, that’s the spirit!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [EDITED]  
> Just in case you misunderstood yesterday's pessimistic note at the beginning (sorry, I was feeling blue and stressed) - no, I'm not abandoning the story. I've seen someone asked about it. Don't worry. :)  
> I'm going to replay Pokémon Moon (it's been many months since I last played), reconnect with all of it, and try to update as soon as possible.


	17. The High Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "They threw me a whirlwind  
> And I spat back the sea  
> I took a battering but I've got thicker skin and the best people I know looking out for me  
> So I'm taking the high road  
> My engines running high and fine  
> May I always see the road rising up to meet me and my enemies defeated in the mirror behind."  
> Get Better, by Frank Turner
> 
>  
> 
> I'm alive - and I'm not done with this fic yet! Just tying up some loose ends here and looking forward to the fluff and stuff.  
> I want to thank all your patience and support. I didn't think I'd still be writing this almost a year after starting but, well, I don't regret it either.  
> (I think I'll answer your comments for the remaining chapters, even if I haven't until now because I didn't want the numbers on the meter to go crazy. I don't really care anymore - you deserve a reply and a big hug for dedicating me a piece of your precious time. :v)

Your chest swells and deflates with a long intake of breath, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the setting sun, watching it set the sky on fire as it descends upon the canyon. As the atmosphere darkens, the wind blows through the rocky valley, rustling the short yellowing grass on the cliff you’ve chosen as campsite and making you shiver slightly.

It was only when you perceived the subtle variation in temperature a few days ago, the colder breeze carried by the sea and the barely noticeable lengthening of the nights, that you realized it was December already. Struggling with the ever-present humidity of the Alolan air, the stickiness and the heat, it came as a surprise when you actually felt the need to throw a jacket on at night.

The solstice festivities are just around the corner and you’re halfway across the world as to celebrate anything the way you are used to. In the blink of an eye, winter is here. But it’s nothing like all the previous winters of your life—it’s hot, sunny, and you lack proper company. Knowing Kanto, everything must already be well on the way to become white with freshly fallen snow. You picture everyone wrapped in several layers of clothes, woollen hats and mittens, defying the morning frost to go outside and build a snowman in the front garden. And you feel the first genuine pang of nostalgia in months—not really towards anyone, still a bit annoyed with your parents, but towards that blissfully childish feeling of peace and wonder. With everything that has happened, you never really gave thought to returning home in the immediate future, but you’re being assaulted by the need to make a decision on that matter time and time again these days.

The crease between your brows deepens, thinking back to your departure from Hau’oli.

 

* * *

 

Leaving was harder than you initially thought it would be—and, at the same time, it was surprisingly easy—but staying at the hospital to slowly waste away _waiting_ wasn’t an option you honestly wanted to consider anymore. The moment the idea of going back to training had been planted in your brain, however small and humble, it put down strong roots and grew faster than you could have expected. It was the right thing to do. Although the ferocity of that desire didn’t prevent your mind from playing the martyr on how much of a bad person you were every five seconds. Nevertheless, it had been your goal from the beginning, you reminded yourself, before everything went crazy and the metaphorical train you rode went off the rails.

The way fate kicked your ass without any consideration, and then kicked you again for good measure when you were writhing on the ground didn’t cease to amaze you—maybe even amuse you, at this point. But, well, you had learned the hard way to look on the bright side of things, even if you had to squint to solely begin to discern it.

The good part was that, no longer a clueless puppet in the hands of uncertainty, as soon as the decision was taken you felt feel free of, at least, a decent portion of the apprehension that was making you so miserable. The guilt didn’t completely disappear but you learned to manage the ugly thoughts and redirect them towards a more or less rational approach. _There’s nothing you can do here but watch over his sleep_. _He isn’t going anywhere_. _He won’t be alone_. _They will tell you if anything happens. The best you can do is go, tick off everything in the to-do list, and clear your head to figure out this mess._

Preparations were made swiftly. The worst part definitely was discussing every possible scenario with the hospital’s staff—even those you didn’t dare think about. Doctor Arana was of great help. At least, she succeeded in reassuring you that everything would be alright during your absence. Not going to lie, you _did_ wept a little while saying goodbye to Golisopod—“not forever, big guy, just for a little while. You won’t even notice I’m gone, and your master will be fine by then. Primarina will miss you lots.” The gigantic bug pokémon even gave you a hug.

You booked a ticket for the first ferry departing Thursday morning and packed everything you would need on the road, leaving the rest of your meagre belongings in the professor’s care. You also left Umbreon behind, mainly so that Lillie wasn’t all alone, temporarily occupying his spot in the team with a Mudbray you intended to train, evolve and use against the League.

And then the phone rang, around fifteen minutes before you left for the docks. It was entirely too early for making or receiving calls, barely six in the morning, but the number flashing on the screen was from somewhere far, far away, where the day was probably coming to an end.

“Crap.”

Though you had—really—intended to call your parents—at some point—to let them know you were alive and well after the last weird, impromptu conversation with your mother before you left to the Ultra Space—believing you were pretty much going to die out there—, they beat you to it. Then again, you hadn’t bothered to call them again after that and they must have thought you were neck-deep in trouble of some untold kind—they were probably considering drugs, or worse.

Niceties were over with the initial greetings. Lots of yelling were involved. Lots of ugly glares, and lots of arched eyebrows. Apparently, despite your lack of communication everyone back home had caught wind of the mess that took place at Aether Paradise on the international news, as well as about the fearless trainers that hunted down an ancient relic, crossed the gateway to another dimension and fought off the alien entities that could potentially threaten your world. The nosy reporters had mentioned you and your friends by full name and showed pictures you absolutely didn’t remember given authorization for. The Meowth was out of the bag and, of course, they didn’t like it.

Their reaction was simple and expected. They wanted you to leave, to jump on the first plane headed to Kanto and return home right away.

“No,” was your harsh and blatant answer. Obviously.

What had they expected?

Maybe logic dictated they might have a point—your experience in Alola had been a rollercoaster from the moment you set foot on the islands, so to speak, but… you had absolutely no intention of leaving right now. At all. Perhaps a more sensible person would have run away as far away as possible the moment things turned south beyond repair—and, well, you sort of tried running away from Guzma at first, but you didn’t get too far.

It’s not something you have dedicated enough time and thought yet, given the worrying circumstances, but the truth is you don’t desire to leave the Alolan shores anytime soon. And then, there was _that thing_ … The professor mentioned he knew about a nice house for rent in the outskirts of Iki Town, rather close to his laboratory—and the foolish, fleeting idea of moving in had certainly crossed your mind, then. He knew the owner personally, so you told him to give them your number, just in case.

But you didn’t feel like sharing that information with your parents at the moment, especially when they were shouting nonsense and scowling so obnoxiously at you in the little phone screen—like you were a petulant child who knew nothing of the world, exactly how they had looked at you that night when you had told them you were coming to Alola. Just when you thought things were looking brighter on that regard, they knock you back to square one, feeling angry and powerless against their judgement.

So, you decided on the most immature—but satisfying—possible reaction. You hang up on them and turned the phone off. It was merely a temporary solution and it probably would worsen things between the three of you, but you had no time to waste in reminding your parents that you were a perfectly capable adult with her own life—and a ton of problems. And they didn’t even know that you had found your soulmate, or that you almost died because of it, or that he was now hanging by a thread between life and death.

Introducing them to Guzma would be a culminating point in your life, in many ways. You were pretty sure your father would suffer a stroke if he saw the gang leader in all his unabashed glory, realizing just how badly they had insisted that you had to find your soulmate. Well, there he was at last, ready to break all their pretentious, rose-tinted delusions.

You both feared and looked forward to that moment. But first Guzma had to wake up.

Your mood didn’t improve at all as you waited in line to board the ferry along with twenty-odd yawning people nor when you finally left the foggy port behind. Mentally groaning at the sluggishness of the gargantuan ship, you wondered if it wouldn’t have been easier to call a Charizard to get to Poni, but it would have been a painfully long flight straight over the ocean on the back of a pokémon and the perspective of falling into the water because of a numb leg wasn’t appealing. You dedicated a moment to think on how spoiled you had gotten, used to counting with your friends’ assistance in a variety of fronts, like using their private and much more luxurious boat.

You huffed, crossed your arms over the railing and prepared for a long, boring ride. It was hours before the familiar docks with all the colourful Pokémon-shaped boats appeared in the distance, and by then you wanted nothing but step on solid ground and forget about anything ocean-related for a while.

It wasn’t planned, but the first night you spent in Hapu’s house. You decided to drop by on your way to the inner plains and inquire how the girl was doing as kahuna, and before you knew it her grandmother had somehow convinced you stay for a cup of tea, then for a nice homecooked dinner, and finally into sleeping in their guest room. Come morning, Hapu kindly pointed you out in the right direction to find a nice camping site and tagged along, helping in a couple of double battles against the trainers you found along the path. Afterwards, you had set your tent—a bit clumsily, you had to admit, after so much time without needing to set it up—in a spot that guaranteed an amazing sight of the canyon and breathed in the fresh air.

One thing was undeniable—the physical exertion of the day had succeeded in keeping your mind occupied. There was dirt under your nails, sweat on your skin and dust on your clothes. However, as soon as you were alone with your thoughts once again, staring at the ceiling cloth of the tent, tucked inside your sleeping bag, you thought about Guzma again and reached out to that silver flame in the dark.

The following morning you went out early to explore the surroundings with Arcanine. He picked up a scent on the air—turpentine, probably—that caught his attention enough to wander off and that’s how you found the last captain, Mina, without really meaning to. Remembering what the professor had said about the young artist, the blotches of pink paint on her hair, face and baggy t-shirt pretty much gave away her identity. She had set a canvas against some rocks and was reproducing the landscape in front of her, so you waited patiently for the blonde girl to acknowledge your presence. Watching her painting was extremely soothing, either way. You had been so lost in the serenity of the scene that you jumped a little when she finally set down the brushes and abruptly turned around with her hands raised in front of her face, thumbs and forefingers stretched to create a frame through which her grey eyes studied you intently for several seconds in which didn’t dare move.

“Hmmm. Your pokémon and you, that fire in your eyes… yeah, those eyes… they’ve seen so much darkness, so much pain… but they shine so beautifully. It’d make such a great picture,” she murmured after a while, lowering her arms with a timid but excited smile. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away. Did you need something?”

“You’re Captain Mina, right?”

“I am,” she exhaled softly, wiping her hands on her oversized shirt and adding more multi-coloured splotches to the fabric. “And you’re a challenger looking for a trial, then, not a present from the muses. It’s alright, I have some time to kill before the paint dries, so I accept your challenge.”

You bowed your head in gratitude. “Thank you. We’re sorry to disturb you, really. Your work… is truly beautiful.”

“I’m glad you can appreciate it,” she smiled ever so subtly. “I think I’ll enjoy this battle.”

As expected, all the members of her team were fairies. The fight was on the short side—you took three of her pokémon out easily with Arcanine, as their secondary types were weak against fire, and didn’t struggle much to defeat the rest. For some reason, the artist seemed extremely and oddly satisfied despite having lost the match. She demanded that you met with her again sometime in the near future to pose as model, exclaiming that you had “filled her with wondrous inspiration”. You accepted the offer, somewhat uncomfortably, and departed with a pink crystal on your bracelet.

You revelled in the sentiment of completion for a little while, wondering if this was what one felt upon defeating the eight gyms of a region. It was a vague analogy, as the islands trials were unique in that regard, but it was the closest you had ever been to feeling that way.

You stayed in the area, looking for more trainers, bubbling with the excitement of victory—of getting stuff done, at last. Your team could benefit from a couple more encounters that morning, now that it was starting to get in shape. In between the fighting and the exploring, you were trying to come up with some sort of strategy and had put together a more or less balanced team thinking forward to the League—Primarina, Raichu, Mimikyu, Arcanine, Toucannon and the newly evolved Mudsdale.

It took a total of five battles to both wear you out and satiate your thirst for improvement, but you were more than happy with the team’s performance so far. They would make a fantastic job against the League—in which you guessed the kahunas would be involved to some extent—as they were right now, but a little more training to tip the scale in your favour could never hurt. By the time you waved goodbye to the last downtrodden opponent, the sun was high, your energy depleted, and your stomach growled quite angrily. But on the way back to the tent you stumbled upon yet another surprise.

The wheels of your mind worked exhaustingly for a few seconds on associating the familiar face to its rightful name, then you called, hesitantly. “Caleb?”

For a moment, you feared you had been mistaken, but the tall brown-haired guy you were talking to turned around and the doubt dispelled. He had shaved the sides of his head, but otherwise he looked exactly the same and even had the same hoodie he wore that day tied around his waist. It took another second for his features, contorted in momentary confusion, to relax, and then his forest green eyes lit up in recognition.

“Hey, it’s you, Girl from the Desert!” he beamed, closing the distance to wrap you briefly but effusively between his arms. “It’s great to see you again—away from trouble, that is!”

“It’s trouble what never stays too long away from me,” you clarified, returning the hug. You barely knew him, even if he sort of saved your life months ago, so the physical contact felt weird and you were extremely glad when it was over. What was it with overly friendly people?

“You already done with the island challenge?” he asked. “I’m headed to the heart of the Vast Canyon myself, to take on that Totem Kommo-o. They say it has a nasty temper so I’m not really looking forward to it. Then I still have to look for the kahuna…”

“The Kommo-o _does_ have a nasty temper, so watch out. But don’t worry too much about the kahuna. She’s a good friend, and a great person. She lives in that little house at the entrance of the ruins,” you pointed to the path that lead to Hapu’s. “And I… I just got the last Z-crystal I needed earlier this morning, so now I’m just training around the island.”

“Damn, you’re way ahead of me. Thanks for the advice,” he smiled. “So, you gonna leave now? Pack your things and head back home?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “I don’t know if you noticed the construction works around Mount Lanakila but… well, it’s not really a secret anymore—my mentor has been kind of spreading his plans all around—but he’s planning on opening a bona fide Pokémon League at the top. _And_ he wants me to be the first challenger.”

“That’s… wow, I didn’t expect that, a League here in Alola! It sounds awesome.”

“It will open the region to the rest of the world, at least. Lots of trainers will come to beat the new Elite 4, that’s for sure,” you mused.

He nods, a bit absent-mindedly, and then he clear his throat with evident nervousness. “By the way, I’m sorry I never got to call you. I guess you could tell that, well, stuff happened.”

You offered a small smile, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, don’t sweat about it. Stuff happened on my end, too. But it _is_ nice to see you again and all. I was, um, headed back to my camp for lunch. If you’re hungry, we can talk some more there.”

He rubbed his belly at the invitation. “That sounds great. If you don’t mind, of course. I’m kinda starving.”

“Follow me, then.”

You hadn’t gotten too far away from your camping site so it was a brief walk. He measured his long strides to fall in step with your shorter legs, and you chatted lively all the way up the hill, listening about his first adventure around Johto, how he obtained a Totodile from Professor Elm and failed five consecutive times to defeat the Dragon Master Lance—the main reason he wanted to try luck exploring another region. Once you each had a steaming bowl of stew—canned food heated by the fire, as good as it got in the middle of nowhere—you felt more comfortable next to him and the conversation was getting personal.

“I miss snow,” you groaned.

“I know, right? It doesn’t even feel like winter here. It’s all wrong!”

You shared a knowing grin.

“So, how has life treated you since I saw you last, future Champion?” he inquired. “Aside from island trials and getting helplessly lost in deserts, that is.”

“Life sucks,” you replied quickly with a small, exasperated smile, not feeling in the mood for details. He arched a bushy eyebrow, pushing for a more elaborated answer. “Let’s just say it’s complicated. What about yours?”

“Complicated,” he echoed, grinning wholeheartedly. “Nah, it was… a bit weird for a while. Definitely weird. But I think I’m doing fine now. I want nothing more than to finish this journey and head back to Johto, to be honest.”

“Eager to return home?”

“A little bit.”

You had the feeling his mind went somewhere else as he said that.

“This may sound stupid,” you started, after a long pause. “Actually, this will sound _incredibly_ stupid, but I’m curious. Were you, uhm… flirting with me, when we met?”

He dropped his spoon on the bowl, chuckling awkwardly. “Was it so obvious?”

“For my friend, maybe,” you snorted, mentally agreeing never to tell Acerola she was right, after all.

“Yeah, well… I totally think you’re pretty and interesting, don’t get me wrong, and I was _really_ going to ask you out on a date when we met, but—“

“Stuff happened,” you completed the sentence.

“Too much stuff,” he nodded, smiling a bit nervously. Then he sighed deeply. “When we met I was going through a rough… weird-ass… patch. I guess you can say I was trying to outrun my responsibilities. I’d just found out who my soulmate was, like a week before I came here. Well, I had the trip planned months ago, plane ticket bought and everything, but the date definitely turned out convenient.” His voice wavered a little, affected by those memories, and you swore his cheeks turned cherry red. You stifled a smirk. “He was someone I knew from my childhood in Goldenrod City. The last person I’d have thought of, this guy who used to bully me at school. Not badly but, you know, he wasn’t exactly nice to me. And… hell, when I read that name on my wrist and understood it was him, of all people, I wanted nothing to do with that nonsense.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah… but like I said, everything’s going well now. He called me like a thousand times while I was travelling, and eventually I picked up the phone. I just intended to tell him to fuck off but somehow we ended up talking for hours. I was shocked by how different he seemed. He apologized for being such an asshole at school, and then he came all the way to see me here last weekend—Hano Grand Resort is amazing, I tell you—and we sorted things out. We… we’re engaged,” he finished with a self-conscious cough, looking down to his feet for a moment before meeting gaze, wide with astonishment.

“T-that’s… wow, I mean, congratulations! I’m happy for you,” you leaned closer to give him another hug, definitely more heartfelt than the last. “I didn’t expect that outcome but it’s… great, really.”

“Thank you,” he chuckled. “I’ll make sure to send you an invitation.”

“I’d be honoured,” you assure. “It’s actually  kind of funny, though. I was running from my soulmate as well, back then when we met. I only went into Haina Desert because I thought he wouldn’t find me there and, yeah, it was one of the dumbest things I’ve done in my life.”

“No way!”

“Really. He wasn’t who I expected him to be, I guess, just like you said,” you sigh. “The whole soulmate thing… it’s scary.”

“It is. Then you look back and think ‘how could I be so stupid’. You’ll see,” he states, matter-of-factly. “And what happened with that? You still running from the poor guy?”

“No,” you shake your head, smiling sadly. “You could say he’s been the one running from me, as of late.”

“How the hell does that work?” he exclaims with disbelief. “You guys must be the most stubborn soulmates of all times. And that’s saying something, coming from me.”

“Yeah, probably we are.”

 

* * *

 

Back to the present, you shake your head and look up at the purple twilit firmament. It will soon turn to black, with the stars vibrant and alight above like a thousand eyes looking down, watching over the pitiful history of mankind. It’s only your fifth night at Poni, although it feels as if you had been here so much longer. You’ve done a lot in very little time, and it’s a bit overwhelming after spending weeks doing nothing. Taking a step back, focusing on your pokémon, and even talking with Caleb, helped put certain things in perspective.

You stand there until the sun disappears completely, and then you dislodge yourself from the edge of the cliff. You share a meagre, unfulfilling dinner with your pokémon by the light of the small campfire you used to cook, and then put the flames out.

Earlier on the afternoon you had considered going out to see what nocturnal pokémon—and trainers—you could find, but you find yourself too tired and lacking any real interest in battling at the moment.

Like every night, you lie down, close your eyes tightly and reach out through the bond to check on Guzma. The distance makes it a bit harder, so it takes a lot of concentration to find that speck of silver floating among the shadows—but you do. Nothing seems to have changed. He is there but he is not getting any closer, nor any further away, as if something kept him trapped in that one place. The lack of real change in any direction is starting to become worrisome, like he’s not really getting any better. Neither you nor the doctors have any tangible reason to think that’s the case but deep down you feel it.

 _Something’s wrong_.

Unable to shake off the new concerns piling up on top of the old ones, your mind drifts in and out of sleep for what feels like hours, unsuccessful in latching onto a concrete dream. You just lie there with your eyes closed and your heart clenched with anguish, debating whether to get up and go for a walk or remain there hoping morning arrives soon. At some point, you feel a distant rumbling, like the earth is shaking underneath your body, and think your mind is finally giving up to exhaustion.

But the unknown noise gets louder, closer and closer, becoming deafening as it makes the world around you tremble. You sit up in your sleeping bag, jumping like a spring with your eyes looking left and right for the source of whatever is causing such commotion. The tent is shaking. The ground is shaking. A huge shadow passes over you, beyond the cloth.

Moving to your hands and knees, you hurry to tug down the zip of the opening and crawl out of the tent in time to see a huge white helicopter descending from the night sky onto a piece of grassy land twenty-meters away. Your arms fly to protect your face from the furious lashes of wind the massive rotor blades are sending everywhere, battering the branches of the nearby trees. You’re still processing what’s happening when the roar and the shaking stops altogether once the helicopter touches land. There’s a big letter A on the lateral, which disappears when the door slides to the side.

Then, from inside hops a young man with pale blond hair and pale green eyes.

“Gladion?” you all but cry. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The teenager walks towards you with his hands shoved into the pockets of an elegant jacket. You can’t quite put your finger on what makes you think so with just a glance, but he has changed since the last time you saw him. Just not in a blatant, drastic way. He seems different, more mature perhaps, less like an angry child. He still wears all black but he has discarded the ripped punk-styled clothes for an actual suit, minus the tie, and you’d swear he has gotten a bit taller as well.

“Looking for you, obviously,” he deadpans, as if it was something you should have deduced. And you would have, if he hadn’t slapped you out of dreamland five seconds ago with what could have very much been an emulation of the apocalypse. “I would have called but the phone reception here is terrible. I’ve got a job for you, and we don’t have much time to lose.”

“Okay, buddy, I’m gonna stop you there. Gimme a minute to understand this,” you manage to pipe up before he keeps talking, with only minor annoyance. “I don’t get it. Did something bad… happen, at the hospital?”

“No,” Gladion shakes his head, and you exhale with mild relief. “Everything’s the same as far as I know, which is part of the reason I’m here. _They_ didn’t send me to look for you,” he clarifies, more calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _Nanu_ did.”

“Nanu?” you repeat, a bit incredulously. “Why?”

“You’ve been following the news, right?” You give a cautious nod, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he continues. “All the wormholes disappeared when the big one did, but some Ultra Beasts stayed behind, running rampant around the islands. I’ve been collaborating with the International Police in taking care of that problem. They’re old acquaintances from Nanu, so to speak, and they fought against the Beasts ten years ago, so they had a good deal of information to add to our archives at Aether.”

“And how does any of that relate to me?”

“I read the files,” he went on, ignoring your interruption. “They suffered a lot of casualties, as if expected, but here comes the important part—some agents resulted gravely poisoned and eventually they fell into a coma from which they never woke up. Sounds familiar?”

Your mouth opens and closes a couple of times, not producing any sound.

“… are you saying…”

“You were unconscious, so you don’t probably know that I came to retrieve you all after you returned from Ultra Space. I also made all the arrangements at Hau’oli hospital, so I’ve been monitoring both my mother’s and Guzma’s recovery. And that’s the catch—there has been no such recovery,” he declares. “Even with their bloodstream apparently clear, they haven’t improved in any significant way, and they haven’t gotten worse either. Those sick agents went through a similar trance and then, out of nowhere, they died.”

“Wait— But that’s— I mean… I’m also upset about waiting and how nothing seems to be happening, but I don’t feel like Guzma’s in any danger. If that was the case, the bond would have told me.”

“I don’t know much about soulamte bonds but I don’t think your connection to him is of any help here. Nothing can detect whatever it’s slowly killing them. It doesn’t work like any illness from our world.” Your face must have reflected the sudden panic—and, for one harrowing second, you can’t breathe—because he places a hand on your shoulder. “I know how that sounds, but keep listening. Their scientists found a way to synthetize an antidote using the very toxins of the Ultra Beasts that put them in that state.”

“So, that means…”

He nods.

“It's not too late. We can save them, if we work quickly. I’ve pinpointed the location of several Nihilego in Akala Island. With the special balls developed by my mother we can capture some specimens, bring them to the lab, and save both her and Guzma. But Silvally and I need the help of a good trainer to overpower them.”

The mere idea of facing those disgusting creatures again has you pressing your lips together, fighting off a shiver of dread as memories of the alien dimension flash before your eyes.

Gladion seems to misinterpret your silence, because his face twitches with irritation and he hisses: “Or you can stay right where you are, trust whatever that stupid bond tells you, and wait forever for the tiny possibility of him waking up on his own. Your choice.”

“Please, don’t insult me,” you respond with a scowl of your own. “I wasn’t bailing out on you, or calling you a liar, I just… I hate those _things_. You didn’t saw what we did.”

He sighs, long and deep, and you can see plain as day that he’s absolutely exhausted. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh either. I apologize but I’ve been working nonstop to fix this mess. I understand your fear and your reservations. I’ll go capture the aliens myself to obtain the antidote, with or without your help. I just thought you would want to take part in it and, well, you had to know about this.”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep breath of your own and steel yourself. When you open them again, a small albeit reluctant smile touches your lips.

“I'm sorry, too. I appreciate you coming all the way here to tell me,” you speak softly, placing a hand atop his where it rests on your shoulder. “I know these aren’t easy times for you either. You’re a good friend and I trust your judgement. Just let me grab my things.”


	18. In the Way of the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Just pull back this veil  
> Turn night into day  
> Don't' you know you're standing in the way of the light?  
> Pour oil on these flames  
> Speed up my heart again  
> Don't you know you're standing in the way of the light?"  
> Standing In the Way of the Light, by Birdy
> 
> I meant to upload this on Sunday because it was my birthday (I'm 24 now!) but I spent all day nursing a nasty hangover. Oops.  
> The amount of support this story receives even when I take a two month long absence never fails to amaze me, honestly. I have to reply so many comments!  
> Also, the more I re-visit old chapters, the more I notice the mistakes this has at large but I'll take good care of everything once this is finished, and maybe I'll make some changes on the improved version depending on what Ultra Sun/Moon shows us.
> 
> Good news: the angst is over (for real, this time). Only love and Guzma for now till the end.

The music, the torches, the people, the big colourful banner with your name hanging from the drooping leaves of the palm trees at the edge of Iki Town. It’s every bit as overwhelming as you imagined, and it makes you even more miserable than expected.

This is it, then, after all that insane struggle, sweat and blood. League Champion of Alola. You have held the fancy title for a meagre five hours and you already wince at hearing those words thrown in your direction. It’s an uncomfortable and unfamiliar weight on your already weary shoulders, and at the same time it means nothing. You don’t feel any different.

You should be beyond proud of yourself but today’s events just make you feel a little bit emptier, if anything. Exhausted. Strangely alleviated, yes, of reaching the apparent end of the road, though not necessarily fulfilled. You have done what they expected of you, and now…  you’re back to _waiting_.

Someone pats you on the back—hard, between your shoulder-blades—and exclaims his congratulations a bit too loudly, making you spill some of your precious Mai Tai. The random man, pudgy and balding, doesn’t ring any bells in your fuzzy mind. He must be just another of the island inhabitants that invited themselves over to the festivities. The crowd seems to grow and spread every time you look around, bigger and more suffocating. The newly appointed Elite Four is here, nearly all the captains, the kahunas, your friends, even trainers you vaguely recognize crossing paths with—and their pokémon, of course. It’s painfully ironic how you might be the only person that doesn’t want to be here tonight and yet you are the only one not allowed to leave early.

You recover quickly from being forcibly shoved out of your self-pitying thoughts, using the hem of your shirt to carelessly wipe the sticky rum from your fingers, and draw a grimace that may pass for a smile in the flickering light of the fire. Luckily, the lack of sentiment goes unnoticed under the alcohol-infused euphoria.

“Thanks,” you drawl, taking a hearty sip of what you estimate is your third drink. Possibly the fourth. Nobody is keeping count—well, maybe Lillie, eyeing you worriedly from where she stands talking with Hau, Hapu, Kukui and Burnet—and nobody seems willing to deny you anything you ask for tonight. Except the one thing you _really_ want. The only person you would like to see right now cannot be here.

You scratch at the mark on your ribs without really noticing. The lacy cup of the bra is making your skin itchy.

Exhaling through your nose, you look around for a short while before deciding to approach your friends bearing a more genuine smile, hoping they can occupy your mind with something other than your comatose soulmate lying in a hospital bed within a twenty-five-minute walking distance from your current location—you made the calculations.

“Having fun?”

Hau nods enthusiastically, sipping on his cola. “This is great.”

“This brave young man here was just telling us how he’s planning on snatching that title from your hands,” says Kukui, swinging around a colourful drink of his own. There’s a faint blush on his tanned cheeks, and he has an arm wrapped affectionally around his wife’s shoulders. “You better watch out for him, cousin—he’s serious!”

“Yeah, sure. I can’t wait,” you mumble, somewhat dispiritedly. “You know what, kiddo, wanna skip some steps and fight right now? Maybe we could beat the record for shortest championship ever,” you offer, topping the question with an awkward giggle and proceeding to drown it with a long gulp that finishes your cocktail. It doesn’t work. They’re all eyeing you warily. “Just kidding, duh. Relax. You should try one of these. They are _good_.”

You can physically feel the weight of Lillie’s glower and awkwardly lean your body to onto the other feet.

“What?”

She sighs, thin eyebrows knitted together. “It’s nothing. I…” Lillie starts. Then, gently but firmly, she takes your hand and pulls you aside to talk more privately, away from the huge bonfire. “I’m worried about you. Haven’t you drunk enough already? Are you feeling, you know, _okay_?”

Your brain delays a response, as if it finds difficulty processing that question. “Heh… _I guess so?_ No, really, I’m fine. At least, partially fine. I’m just celebrating. I’m just trying to… to…”

“Trying to forget. I know.”

“You know?”

“There’s a lot I’d like to forget, too. I can’t stop thinking about my mother and all that happened. I’m scared,” she confides. “Scared that we were too late, and that they won’t wake up. Scared of tomorrow, as in, the future. _Nebby_ ’s no longer by my side and although I know I’m not alone, it feels really lonely. I want to do something with my life. I want to be strong, like you.”

The background fades into a blur of shapes and faces as a silence falls over your conversation.

“But I don’t think I am, Lillie,” you whisper, unable to stop the way your voice wavers. “Not in the way it matters. I’m so, so weak. I’ve endured a lot of things since I got here but it has broken the person I used to be. For some reason, people have relied on me to accomplish important tasks. They’ve thought I could do it, that I could do _anything_ , but I got tired of pretending a long time ago. I never wanted to be the heroine of the story and I said… heh, I said that to Guzma almost after our first encounter. All this time, I’ve been running from one thing or another, making too any mistakes to keep count.”

“You never really wanted to become the Champion, did you?” she realizes, looking as if someone had just unveiled a truth that had always been within reach. “Maybe if you talked with the professor about it…”

“Don’t worry your head about that, Lills,” you reply with a deflated shrug, tone softer. “Sooner or later someone will beat me and claim the title. That’s how it works. There are lots of great trainers out there, even here tonight. Maybe Hau will be the lucky guy, after all. Maybe someone else,” you wave a finger, pointing at random people in the multitude. “I mean— what I mean is… I have to do this now, even if I don’t like it. Because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve been acting as Champion long before today, if I think about it. Even after I lose that silly title, I doubt I’ll stop trying to help people because I’m helpless like that. But I decided to drink and be a big baby about it because this year has been downright insane and it just seems to go on and on and on,” you trail off. “I know you can understand that better than anyone, sweetheart.”

“… Yeah.”

You open your arms wide and she steps closer, accepting your clumsy hug. Her small shoulders start shaking within seconds. “ _Shhh_ … Let me tell you a secret: the truth is, I may not be strong, Lillie, but _you_ are. Don't you remember how incredibly brave you were when everyone else didn't know what to do? I had almost accepted I was going to die from a broken soul bond but you'd have none of that. You befriended a legendary pokémon and dragged my ass to another dimension. You saved me and Guzma, and you saved your mother and proved her wrong. You’re the strongest person I know.”

And you mean it.

Her arms tighten around your middle as she sobs quietly against your chest. Professor Burnet catches your eye over Lillie’s shoulder and mouths a concerned question, looking about to interrupt the moment, but you shake your head to assure everything is fine.

The tears she has been bottling up wet the front of your shirt but you couldn’t care less. Lillie needs this instant of catharsis as much as you do—perhaps even more. Somehow you tend to forget she’s only eleven years old and these last months she has walked exactly through the same shit-storm as you, and then through a hell of her own. First, she mysteriously lost her father, which made her mother lose her mind over a shattered soul, then she lost her older brother briefly when he ran away, she lost _Nebby_ when it evolved into a legendary pokémon, and now she might lose Lusamine for good. And yet, despite everything, she has showed more mental fortitude than you could ever muster.

That thought acts like a slap, sobering you up significantly.

A couple of minutes into the embrace, a familiar voice calls both your names. Lillie sees him first and hurries to clean her tearful face with the back of her hand.

“Brother, I’m glad to see you!” she warmly welcomes him, changing your embrace for his, almost equal in ungainliness. The fracture in their fraternal relationship has been mended for the most part and you couldn’t be happier to see them getting ever closer.

“Sis,” Gladion greets back with one of his rare and fleeting smiles, which immediately turns into a more in-character frown when he notices Lillie’s red, puffy eyes. His gaze drifts between you two, expecting answers. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, really,” she assures, fiddling with her fingers in nervousness. “I’m just a bit emotional, is all. Uhm, I’ll going back with Hau and the professors now, and, well… let you talk. Come see me before you go, okay?”

 He nods, not entirely satisfied by the response, and she darts away.

“So,” Gladion turns fully to face you with a small, lopsided grin. “I believe congratulations are in order.” You know he’s teasing you on purpose because just the other day you shared your gloomy thoughts and existential doubts with him while hunting down those pesky Ultra Beasts. “Or maybe condolences?”

“Ugh. Shut up.”

He chuckles. “That bad?”

“I admit the catering and the music are pretty good but, come on, Hala and Kukui went completely overboard with all of this! I’d rather be sleeping but I’m stuck here surrounded by all these people that I don’t even know. I mean, who’s the dude with the ukulele? He’s awesome but I don’t know him. And I’m really tired. And a bit drunk,” you ramble your annoyance off. “Sorry. I’ll shut up now. Do you want something to drink? You look stressed.”

“Thanks but I don’t have time for one, anyway,” he replies, bemused, looking down at his wristwatch. “I’ve got to be back at Aether right away and prepare tomorrow’s press conference. I, actually, huh…  I’m sorry but I didn’t plan on coming to the party. It’s been chance that I had to check on the state of things at the hospital and could spare five minutes to come and see all of you.”

“That’s crazy, Gladion. You’re working too much. I can’t believe they’re still pestering you like that. It’s ridiculous. You’ve washed the company’s face in no time, paid for reparations and stuff you didn’t even have to… Come on, you’ve basically done their job!”

“Yeah, well, it’s complicated to fall in the government’s good graces when you’re advocating for the freedom of a group of… quote, _public enemies_ , unquote.”

“A-holes, all of them. It’s best for the public mind if the kids from Team Skull take the brunt of the crisis and stay locked behind bars instead of running out in the streets,” you hiss. “Look, now that I’m Champion and all… if my word is worth something, give me a call. I’ll testify. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“I appreciate it,” he says. “ _We_ appreciate it. Plumeria commented you already offered to help us and that she declined but… she’s having more of a rough time than she lets on, coping with the boss’ absence.”

“Guzma is very important to her—to all of them. When they came visit him, those kids looked so… devastated. And that sounds just like her, I suppose, trying to keep that big sister façade on. I just want this stupid nightmare to be over, once and for all. For everyone.”

_I told Lillie I didn’t want to be a heroine like five minutes ago, and yet… here I go again._

You mentally facepalm.

That said, you finally allow your mind to wander into a treacherous territory you have purposely tried to avoid all night—though admittedly not with much success. Clearing your throat, you start: “By the way, I know that technically we shouldn’t talk about this and that you shouldn’t tell me anything because of the whole non-disclosure agreement the International Police made us sign, b-but…”

He catches your meaning.

“Well, you’re right, we _shouldn’t_ talk about it. All my lawyers and the directive board would have my head if I did. _But_ mainly because we’re in a party and you should be having fun, not because oft that. You’re my friend and I don’t want you to be miserable tonight of all nights, so…” he steps closer, to pretend secrecy, and whispers: “It's working.”

The antidote they synthetized is working.

You realize the last thing you had been expecting was to hear that— _good news_ —when you find yourself at a total loss for words.

“Are you sure? Like, for real? T-that’s great. That’s…”

He smiles fondly. “Yes. I know it’s hard to believe, but at last things are looking bright for us. Now, do me a favour and try to celebrate a little. You made an outstanding achievement.”

“A-alright,” you reply, still a bit shaken. “Thank you, Gladion.”

With an eloquent movement of head, he walks away to exchange a few words with the rest of the group before going back to business. He’s definitely becoming more social as of late, but he’s also losing whatever childhood he had left.

Sad that the poor boy can’t enjoy a single hour of respite—and angry that he still has to put up with all that political nonsense—, you watch his choppy blond hair vanish amidst the multitude and then head straight to the open bar to fetch another drink. _The last one_ , you promise yourself, _to celebrate_. Truly celebrate, not your championship, but that things appear to be looking bright for once, like Gladion said.

The night stretches on in a colourful haze after that revelation. More animated, you shake a thousand hands, exchange less vacant smiles with strangers and even dance a little with Acerola and Olivia atop the wooden platform that presides the plaza. An improvised pokémon tournament follows among the inebriated attendees but you are not in the mood for more fighting—and your team need a well-deserved breather on that regard—, so you watch from the sides, making comments alongside your friends. Hau comes through as last man standing, and you notice pride in Hala’s voice as he declares his grandson winner of the night.

 When you start feeling wobbly on your feet, you deduce it’s about time to leave and get acquittanced with the brand-new mattress that waits in your brand-new bedroom, in your brand-new home. Renting that house at the outskirts of Hau’oli suddenly sounds like the best decision you have ever taken. No more impersonal motel rooms and no more lumpy cafeteria food.

You spare a glance at the group. Kukui seems to be having a good time, making a demonstration of how he can withstand all kind of pokémon moves while dressed as his Masked Royal persona, so you take upon yourself to accompany a yawning Lillie back to the laboratory.

She pulls you into another long hug before bidding goodbye.

“Sleep tight and have sweet dreams, okay? Everything will be just fine."

“You too,” she replies softly. “Good night!”

The short walk up the grassy hill feels longer than it is, and then you come to a stop in the dirt road for a moment longer, considering the sight of your new residence in pensive silence. You had been looking up studios downtown for a couple of weeks when the professor suggested you asked about this particular house. It had been vacant for a long while but the owner had recently made renovations. As soon as your little mission of tracking down Nihilegos was over, you asked Gladion to drop you off in Melemele before heading to Mount Lanakila. You called the affable old man that owned the quaint little house and appointed a visit, and you liked it so much that you signed the lease contract right then and there.

The outside is painted a crisp white colour that contrasts nicely with the darker wood accents. It has a small porch with a padded bench that overlooks the sea, a garage you don’t really need but that can be used for storage, two bedrooms, a big bathroom, a fully-equipped kitchen—the idea of going back to cooking and baking has you more excited than you anticipated—, a spacious living room that receives plenty of natural light, and a neat back garden that your pokémon loved at first sight. All in all, it’s far better than anything you could have afforded when you arrived at Alola with absolutely no money to your name. It’s a symbol of how far you have come, in a sense. It doesn’t really feel like _home_ , not yet, but you are confident you can make this work.

You ascend the three steps to the front door, narrowly avoiding tripping on the last one. You flinch as the loud _bang_ of it closing at your back echoes throughout the dark, empty house. The inside smells uncomfortably clean, hollow and devoid of the warmth of life, making your nose wrinkle and your imagination run on how you plan on changing that detail as soon as possible.

You prefer to avoid further contemplations for the time being, dragging your feet to the main bedroom and falling on the queen-sized bed with a huff, toeing your shoes off but not bothering to undress. Without the embrace of the fire and the crowd, cold starts creeping along the patches of bare skin, but crawling under the covers seems too much of an effort at the moment. Even with your eyes closed, the room feels like it’s spinning. Badly. You try to focus on something else to stop the staggering dizziness. Ending the night with your arms wrapped around the toilet bowl would only be fitting, but highly undesirable.

Thus, you blindly reach into the soul bond through your mind, to the familiar and comforting blackness where you have spent way too much time this past month to escape from reality. You walk among the serene shadows for a while, like walking through the woods. Sleep doesn’t come easily, despite your weariness, and at some point you lose track of the time. You had never used this subspace for such an idle purpose, but you can see its utility. A small, inner world of your own where no one can disturb you.

Except for that dancing light in the distance.

There seems to be a clarity the closer you get to it.

It’s not your imagination, right?

You’re not alone.

That shouldn’t be there.

Someone else’s consciousness?

But it cannot be, unless...

“Hello?”

The not-so-mysterious person turns around and you see grey, fathomless eyes widening in surprise before you’re somehow pushed out of the dark chamber.

And suddenly you’re sitting up with a sharp gasp, breathless, back at your bedroom, clutching at your chest like your heart’s about to burst out of your ribcage where the letters are burning, burning, burning, _alive_ and _awake_.

Are you dreaming? Did you get so hopelessly, shitfaced drunk that you’re imagining all of this?

You try to return to the subspace within yourself but there’s some sort of wall keeping you away from the intimate place you both share. A wall _he_ built. You can practically feel _him_ fighting to keep you at the other side. Traces of foreign emotions reach your perception through the cracks—shock, confusion, guilt, crippling fear. Until he somehow manages to shut you out entirely and all you receive is a blank static.

_Why?_

You waste no time in rolling out of bed, disregarding the wave of vertigo that overcomes you for a split second, to run out across the living room and out the front door barefoot. Heart beating in your ears, you jump over the three steps on the porch and nearly run over Professor Kukui in the unlit crossroads, not seeing him there until you collide with him and stumble backwards. He grips your arms to steady you but your brain is in overdrive.

“Guzma,” you choke out, tears prickling at your eyes. “Guzma is… I felt—I saw him!”

“Okay, wait—wait— _w _ait a second__! Calm down!” he raises his voice when you keep mumbling incoherently. “Of course you’d be the first to notice. They just called, like, half a minute ago, and I was going to fetch you. But first, please, you’ve got to calm down,” he urges sternly, only relaxing his vice grip when you grudgingly comply and start moving. “Guzma woke up from the coma but, well, we can’t go see him because apparently he’s… gone.”

_Calm down?_

_No can do._

“What the hell?” you all but scream. “He fucking _left_?”

Kukui looks contrite, unsure, as he scratches the back of his neck. “A nurse found his room empty. He took his pokémon and fled. They can’t find him anywhere near the hospital, but they promised they’d keep looking and I was thinking we should organize a group and do the same.”

“I can’t believe him. He’s so… so…”

There are no words for your disbelief.

Worst of all—part of you is not surprised.

Looking up at the night sky, you force yourself to breathe in and out, and think coldly.

If you tried hard enough you could find him through the bond in no time, even with him fighting back. Tug on that metaphorical red thread, follow the path it reveals, and you would be standing in front of him within moments. And then what? He doesn’t want to be found right now, that much is obvious by the reaction you received back there. Not the kind of reunion you had in mind, to be honest. But he must have left for a reason. He might be reckless but he’s not dumb. He must need some time alone to order his thoughts. He almost died, and he’s aware that he almost dragged you along for the ride. He was manipulated, belittled, used and tossed aside like a puppet by someone he thought saw real potential in his skills, after the disdain his own father and society in general showed him. And then he fell in a coma for a whole month with no time whatsoever to assimilate the ugly truth. He has lost everything he worked for—his fame, his family, your trust—, and the people counting on him are suffering the nasty consequences of those mistakes.

No, you can’t really blame him for running because you would have reacted on the same way.

“Tell them to stop looking,” you eventually declare. “Tell them to just… leave him be. No search parties.”

“ _What_? Where did that come from?” Kukui looks at you in bewilderment. “We can’t do that. There’s a lot of people who want to put their hands on him, all for bad reasons. If the police so much as hear—”

“Believe me, I know,” you exhale, rubbing your temples where the pressure of an incoming headache is mounting. “That’s exactly the reason why it may be best for everyone if his whereabouts remain unknown while Gladion ties the loose ends of the whole Aether mess. No one wants to see Guzma more than me. _No one_. I want to hear his voice, I want to touch him to make sure he’s really there, I want to sort so many things out between us… Anyway, you get the point. We never really stood a chance to do things right before, ‘cuz we were stupid and the world was against us. But I understand why he needs some time for himself.” You pause for a moment, allowing him time to follow. “You see, we’ve been waiting for a long time for him to regain consciousness but _he_ wasn’t _here_ and the last thing he remembers clearly has to be Ultra Space—being forsaken, poisoned, hurt and betrayed by Lusamine. He probably remembers that he hurt me, our argument, how miserable I was when Lillie and I found him there like that, and how I couldn’t bring myself to just… forgive him. He probably thinks I hate him. That _everyone_ hates him. I mean, that’s what he already believed even before all hell broke loose.”

Kukui remains silent for a while as he digests your speech and then exhales a long heavy breath, running a hand down his face. “I don’t like it but I get your point, cousin. Okay. We’ll… give him some time. For now. If you’re sure about this, being his soulmate and all, then I should be as well.”

“He’ll come around, hopefully sooner than later because I really have no patience left,” you say, finishing that statement with a peal of humourless laughter. You sniff, trying hard not to start crying. Out of relief, of exasperation, of joy. “In the meantime, I’ll try to be sneaky and check on him through this. I’ll wait a couple of days and see if he’s feeling more social,” you rub at your sore ribs. “Can you believe he actually kicked me out of the connection the exact moment I realized he was there? The little shit.”

Kukui shakes his head, a tinge of amusement making way through the sea of concern. “That sounds like him alright.”

“So… I’ll call Gladion first thing in the morning—if he’s not on his way back here as we speak. We’ll see how we can speed up the legal process and get things back to normal.”

The professor doesn’t look entirely convinced by your decision but you know he trusts your judgement enough as to consider this might be the right thing to do. That, and he’s probably too exhausted—maybe even tipsy still—as to properly contradict your train of thought. Soon enough he’s walking back down towards the beach where his lab stands and you retreat back home, stopping with your hand on the balustrade of the porch to look at the softening night sky, preparing to welcome a new day.

Falling back onto the unmade bed, drained of all energy but happy, you hope the message reaches him.

_Don’t make me wait much longer, okay, numbskull?_

 


	19. Resurrection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection."  
> Arthur Schopenhauer
> 
>  
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone! I hope this chapter contributes to making these days jolly. ❤
> 
> I wrote a little something on Tumblr the other day, as it's been a whole year since I started writing this story (it's been a wild ride) and I wanted to thank you all properly for your support. You can find it [HERE](https://fightingmonsterswithwords.tumblr.com/post/168762515670/sbtt-anniversary-dearest-readers-and-followers-if). Love you, guys!

All too soon, celebrations are over and life returns to its natural, winding course.

For the most part.

Halfway through the following week, Lusamine finishes assimilating the antidote and wakes up from the coma. Greatly disoriented and mildly amnesic, you are told. It appears she only remembers random bits and pieces of what transpired since the Nihilego first infected her mind and started feeding on her obsession, years ago, though the doctors guarantee everything will come back to her in time. Wouldn't it be convenient, to just _forget_ and become blissfully ignorant of all that once went wrong? To draw a blank slate and be absolved of every mistake you ever made? Yeah, who wouldn’t want that? She would personally benefit from it, for sure. You feel like the worst person in the world admitting this, even in the sanctity of your private thoughts, but you want Lusamine to recall every little bit of pain she has caused her children—and Guzma, and other people, and all those poor pokémon—, to take responsibility of her actions and suffer the rightful consequences. After all those points, and if she proved to genuinely regret using people and pokémon to her advantage like marionettes, like less than nothing, would you consider sympathy. You can hardly overlook her cruel misdeeds because of the effects of a broken bond and an alien poisoning she brought onto herself, not when it comes to such a personal matter.

Professor Kukui comments that resentment doesn’t suit you, trying to dispel your vexation, and you answer with a strained grimace. You certainly felt sorry for her, to some extent. You could empathize with what she had gone through after losing her husband and having her soul torn apart because you had had a taste of that living hell yourself, but it’s hard to tell to which degree her masterplan was affected by that alteration of mind and not stemmed from her own hubris.

And, _yes_ , you know damn well how much of a hypocrite you are proving to be. But you can’t shake the suspicion that those motivations had to come from somewhere, and that the toxins merely accentuated them. Deep down, she must have always seen herself as superior.

Be that as it may, she’s restricted to the psychiatric ward for the time being and you doubt you will meet anytime soon. Otherwise, you fear you would punch her perfect porcelain face again before the woman could open her mouth to ask who the hell you were.

Despite everything, you are relieved that she woke up, for Lillie’s sake. The sweet girl truly believes in her mother’s potential for full recovery and rehabilitation and, at the end of the day, you can’t help but also worry about whatever future awaits Lusamine. Even if it’s purely derived from the fondness you profess towards her children. If there exists the smallest chance for her to go back to the loving woman she once was, and for them to become a family once more, you are willing to take the risk.

You and Gladion are fighting tooth and nail, after all, to diminish the damage as much as possible and ensure such a future.

Although playing devil’s advocate is not as fun as it sounded. Pokémon battles you can handle blindly, but legal battles, you’ve found, are a different story altogether. They leech your vitality like a well-aimed attack. More so if you are to defend the ‘bad guys’. And it’s no small feat what you are trying to pull off.

But, as it turns out, your newly acquired title is a nice trump card.

As Champion, you hold a certain political authority over the region—well, not you, per se, but the whole League with you as the current head. After a series of painfully awkward conversations, you know at least half the kahunas are on your side, since Hala and Nanu expressed their support, as well as a few captains, Professor Kukui, Professor Burnet and Miss Wicke. You can’t really condemn the rest of them for standing aside. Team Skull’s hands are far from clean and your efforts to set them free are motivated by selfish reasons. Most of their actions were harmless—in fact, half of the time they were the ones that resulted injured or humiliated—but there’s no denying they partook actively in public disorder, vandalism and the theft of pokémon, and their implication in Lusamine’s illicit affairs can only be excused under the stance that she employed them using a deception. You are downplaying Guzma’s role greatly but everyone seems willing to overlook this, considering he is your soulmate and you personally helped reinstate the peace around the region.

This approach might not seem fair at all but, according to Gladion’s army of lawyers, there are some sketchy regulations and loopholes regarding soul bonds, and if it helps to keep your boy and his little vagrant family out of jail you’re willing to take it and make no questions.

The decisive trial will take place in one month’s time and you have been coming and going from Aether Paradise almost every day to tie all loose ends.

“I think that’s it. Unless you want to go over some particular point again,” Gladion sighs, dropping the file you had been discussing. The sound of the stack of papers hitting the desk’s surface snaps you out of the daze you had drifted into at some point through the meeting. You have been sitting in his office for hours, listening to him reading through the lawyers’ notes and suggestions, offering your comments here and there. “You’re worn-out,” he observes, clicking his tongue in discontent when he sees it’s nearly three in the morning. “Go home and rest if you can. You’ve got a challenger tomorrow, right?”

You nod and hum a response, rubbing your drowsy face. “Two. Maybe three.”

The League itself had not demanded much attention until recently. A lot of enthusiastic trainers had arrived at Mount Lanakila as soon as they opened the gates but none amongst that first round made it past the complete Elite Four. They were iron-willed and took on the challenge straight away, but they underestimated the magnitude of the battles and were not nearly as experienced as needed to go over Hala, Olivia, Kahili and Acerola on a row before facing you. But they were strong all the same, and more trainers kept coming, and then more. It was only a few days ago that Kukui forwarded the new schedule to your phone to inform of the sudden change. You will most likely be taking on several contenders a week without stop, from now on, until someone beats you. _Oh, joy_.

“Go home and sleep,” he repeats, sternly.

Protesting would be pointless because you both know you’re ten seconds away from falling asleep right where you stand, so you let Gladion escort you out of the building and quietly thank him for calling you a ride. “See you soon.”

The unforgiving cold wind hitting your face keeps you awake for the duration of the flight but, as soon as you see your house in the distance, you picture your warm comfy bed and everything else fades to oblivion. The Charizard quite literally drops you off at your doorstep. The toe of your boot clumsily bumps into something that might as well have been your other foot as you fumble with the keys. You don’t even process walking inside, shedding your clothes and crawling under the covers. You’re out like a light as soon as your head touches the pillow. When the alarm goes off at sunrise, you feel like crying.

 

* * *

 

“He was here again?” you mumble sleepily. The morning coffee has yet to kick in, your mental wheels rusty and lethargic.

An equally drowsy Umbreon appears on the doorway, yawning as he squints from behind your legs at the bright morning sun. The lazy ass has gotten used to the domestic lifestyle entirely too fast, enjoying the luxury of having a fluffy cushion and a bowl of food at his disposal twenty-four seven a bit too much.

You were on your way out just now, freshly showered but still feeling very much like a zombie, when you noticed a little purple box wrapped in a white bow lying on the doormat. Vaguely, you recall stumbling upon something the night before but you had been too exhausted to pay it any mind. Your foot had toppled the small package over and it lay on its side—though at least you hadn’t stepped on it.

Umbreon leans down to pick it up in his mouth and drops it on your outstretched hand. You inspect it with a critical eye, bringing it to your ear and giving a gentle shake to check the nature of its contents. Something rattles inside.

“What do you think it will be, this time? More seashells? Those were pretty, right?”

This strange phenomenon started a bit over a week ago, after nearly another two with no news from Guzma whatsoever. The little gifts, the notes, the breadcrumbs to gain back your affection—or whatever they were. And still, he refused to speak with you face to face, which was incredibly frustrating.

You were getting ready for bed one night when you heard the rustling of bushes under your window and saw a shadow quickly retreating from the pane. Despite rushing outside barefoot, he was gone. But you found the first note of many to come stuck on the window frame.

_I’m SoRRy_

He had applied so much force on the fountain pen that little droplets of black ink littered the paper. Maybe he had broken it because there was a huge smudge on the bottom. The creases suggested he must have crumpled and uncrumpled it a thousand times.

Probably due to the surprise of getting caught red-handed, Guzma’s unyielding hold on the bond slipped long enough for you to get the briefest glimpse of his mind. For the first time since his awakening his guard was down and you weren't going to waste the opportunity. After so many days of silence and worrying, you were so wound up with anxiety that all intention of subtlety was thrown to the wind and you rushed in, kicking the door wide open. Of course, he noticed the intrusion and fought for control, frantic to close the two-way bridge back again.

The feeble connection stood in place little more than a couple of seconds. Long enough for him to convey that wave of alarm and irritation at discovering you snooping, and for you to gather he wasn’t far away—and that he was deeply frightened.

 _Come back_ , you pleaded.

And, just like that, he shut you out again. You almost punched the nearest wall.

You had said you would be patient until he felt ready and you were _trying_ —really, you were—but you were also fed up with waiting for his tantrum to be over. Especially when you feared he was alone out there, sleeping on the streets or worse, buried in self-deprecating thoughts and allowing the shadows to drag him down. You just wanted to let him know that he could count on you but he wouldn’t listen.

There was another similar note amongst the leaves and flowers of the climbing vines on the porch when you headed out the following morning. It was a mess of crossed out, longer sentences and then: _i can’t……… i’m sORRY. I’m sORry. I’M SORRY._

It pained you to see those words over and over again. They reminded you of a time you have tried in vain to forget, Ultra Space, and how he had kept repeating them in a litany when you found him, lost in the nightmarish delusion created by the poison and the hurting bond.

You noticed he was visiting your house almost every day, were you inside or not. There were footsteps on the dirt and subtle evidences of his presence in the surroundings. Sometimes you heard him outside, saw his shadow out of the corner of your eye, shouted “ _wait!_ ”, but when you ran outside he was nowhere to be found. His phone was long dead. You asked everyone that came to mind if they had seen him, from Kukui to Plumeria and even Nanu, but they denied having been in touch with him at all. Someone wasn't telling the truth.

He kept leaving notes for you to find—apologizing endlessly, asking for more time, begging for a forgiveness he apparently ignores you have already bestowed—, then small trinkets—seashells from the beach, bright golden flowers from the meadow, pokémon toys and rare rainbow pokébeans—and now, the little box.

“Guzma…” you sigh.

You are running way behind schedule, so you shove it into your bag for later.

 

* * *

 

Later turns out to be much, much later.

Like you aptly anticipated, the two programmed battles to defend your championship became not three but a total of five scattered along the day when an unexpected couple of trainers passed over the Elite Four in the middle of the afternoon. You emptied whatever Max Potions and Full Restores you could find and chose to take on them right away, hoping to clear your agenda for a little while. At least, you wouldn’t be taking any more challengers until Monday which gave you a weekend to rest and eat junk food to your heart’s content.

"You fought splendidly today,” Hala congratulates your efforts as you descend the stairs from the throne room and join the group at the hall, ready to call it a day. “I would say Young Kukui was not expecting such a great number of trainers to take on our League right from the beginning but you are holding up the castle quite well. We knew you would be the best candidate for the role. But… I feel compelled all the same to ask if you’re dealing with other matters with the same efficiency. Are you?”

“Uhm, yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just kinda running on fumes lately and, well, concerned about saying the wrong thing when the trial arrives. Concerned about a lot of things,” you answer half-heartedly after a moment of hesitation. “I really wish Guzma would listen to me, though. Talk to me. I don’t know where he is or even if he’s alright.”

He listens to your apprehensions with an almost fatherly smile. “Don’t worry, child—I’m certain he is faring well. You would surely know if he wasn’t, wouldn’t that be the case? He will come to you in due time. You need each other, after all, and the connection you share has proven to be a resilient one.”

“I don’t know about resilience. It’s _stubbornness_ what led us to this point, so I guess we’ll just keep running into the same brick wall a thousand times, complicating everything.”

“You underestimate yourself, and him,” he shakes his head. “You have changed a great deal since you arrived at our shores, fleeing from your problems. Didn’t you notice you started facing them instead, a long time ago? You’ve found confidence, courage and tenacity inside you and used them to do what you feel it's right. That’s what the island challenge provides to our youth. People have faith in you because you’ve earned it by your own hand. Trust in Guzma’s ability to change, in the same way. I’m sure he’s trying to comprehend where he went wrong, to avoid hurting you and others again.”

Your face contorts with a pang of discomfort. “I placed my blind trust on him… before I learned what was going on. I’m not unwilling to give him another chance to gain that trust back, though I know it will be hard. But he’ll have to stop hiding for this to work, and every day my resolution weakens.”

“Ease your mind, child. He’s closer than you think.”

It hits you then that the old man knows more than he lets on and you cannot help but feel suspicious that everyone in Melemele has been lying whenever you asked about your soulmate’s whereabouts. The kahuna walks away before you can formulate any of the countless questions his cryptic message has roused.

 _Dammit_.

It isn’t until you are back home, well past sunset, lounging in some sweatpants and tank top with your hair twisted into a comfortable messy bun that the purple box returns to your thoughts.

You groan, dreading the idea of moving at all from your relaxed position sprawled across the sofa, sipping on a much-deserved cup of wine while waiting for a pizza delivery. Your eyes fall longingly on Umbreon but he’s already dozing off in the corner, on the fancy cushion that’s his new bed, oblivious to the world and your petty predicaments.

With the haste and elegance of a Slowpoke, you drag your feet to the bedroom and back, plopping down at the exact same spot you had been occupying, but clutching the mysterious box in one hand. You contemplate it for several seconds, turning it this way and the other before finally deciding to open it, and then your breath hitches.

There, on a bed of black velvet, lies an irregular blue stone the size of a coin. It captures the dull light of the lamp within its depths and transforms it into pure starlight, shimmering beautifully beneath your incredulous gaze. It hangs from a black string, fashioned into a necklace. You recognize what it is right away—a fragment of the Dawn Stone he gave you the morning after the party at Po Town when you finally surrendered to your soul’s desires and accepted you were together in this mess; the one you had thrown at his head during the confrontation at Aether Paradise. The stone had shattered against the wall, nearly at the exact same time your heart did when he walked through the wormhole.

Your chest tightens.

 _He picked up the pieces_.

The thought assaults you and leaves you frozen in awe, staring down at the stone. At last, you pick it up by the string and tie it around your neck, a small smile finding its way to your lips at feeling the weight of it resting on the hollow between your collarbones.

The doorbell rings some minutes later, forcing you out of the trance.

But it’s not your dinner waiting at the other side of the threshold.

“Hi, doll.”

You gape at this unforeseen visitor, rendered speechless.

Guzma towers over you in a unique and fascinating way that you had all but forgotten, hunched as usual, though this time there is a certain sheepishness to the way his shoulders crumble under an invisible weight. He looks a tad healthier than the last time you saw him, lying unconscious and sick in a hospital bed—but his hair is too long and unkempt, the shadows under his eyes too dark and sunken, and that five o’clock shadow makes him look a lot paler. His jacket and gilded accessories are nowhere to be found as he stands in front of you wearing his customary sweatpants and a white t-shirt, looking like an entirely different person. Simpler and more vulnerable, as if he had lost the armour of searing anger with which he shielded himself from the world.

He doesn’t attempt to say anything else, waiting for you to react with his eyebrows bent downwards, his lips pressed into a nervous line and his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. His eyes shift nervously between your face and the ground. They linger on the necklace and soften to a beautiful, light grey colour.

Silence stretches on and, an eternity later, your body finally moves. Slow and hesitant, your hand raises in the space between your bodies until it reaches the perfect height to touch his face.

He flinches, expecting a slap.

It would be a lie to say you weren’t half-expecting it, too.

But your palm closes the space instead to gently cup the side of his face, pressing against his square jawline with a firmness that serves a secret purpose—confirm that he is here, _real_. The warmth of his skin, the roughness of his stubble and the momentary quivering of the bone when it tenses with uneasiness… it feels like breathing for the first time.

When he realizes that there will be no violence involved, his eyes fall closed as he releases a shaky breath, leaning against your touch with his eyes closed, savouring the feeling as if starved—of affection, of tenderness, of you—, a sob escaping the prison of your constricted throat. Your fingers linger there, brushing adoringly over the bristliness of the incipient beard. They move downwards, remembering and memorizing the strength of his massive frame all at once, and before you can think of what you are doing you’re wrapped around him in the tightest of embraces. First your arms around his torso, hugging him to you as close as possible, and soon after your legs around his hips. You are shaking with an unknown, illogical fear that he will vanish into thin air if you let go.

And you know you _shouldn’t_ be clinging to him like this, that you should be upset, angry, screaming and demanding answers. But, honestly, you don’t care.

Guzma catches your body on pure instinct with a surprised huff, looping his arms under your legs and drawing you fully against himself, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a long-repressed sob rumbling softly beneath your ear where it’s pressed right against his drumming heartbeat.

“I—“

You hush him, knowing which painful words he’s about to utter. “Not now,” your voice rasps, fingers twisting around the fabric of his shirt. You can feel the tension taking hold of every muscle, his anxiety and doubts threading with your own through the bond, agonizingly sharp and clear now that you are together, and you foresee he’s struggling not to drop you down and disappear in the night. “Pleae, don't go.

He hesitates for a moment. Eventually, nodding in silent agreement, he carries you inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the bit about the Dawn Stone resulted puzzling... that's one of the scenes I plan on including/rewriting. It didn't happen like that in the current version of the story. Sorry for the confusion.
> 
> Also - don't fret, they are not going to make up, have a fuck fest and live happily ever after just yet. I'm sure some will get that impression but nothing's that easy, haha.


	20. Something Just Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Where d'you wanna go?  
> How much you wanna risk?  
> I'm not looking for somebody  
> With some superhuman gifts.  
> Some superhero,  
> Some fairytale bliss.  
> Just something I can turn to.  
> Somebody I can kiss.  
> I want something just like this."  
> Something Just Like This, by The Chainsmokers & Coldplay
> 
>  
> 
> As always, I apologize for the long wait. I'm juggling with several projects at once, including an important research paper, and I'm definitely feeling a bit overwhelmed.  
> I wasn't really in the mood for romance when adding the last touches to the chapter, so this probably sucks. But it was best if I published it right now and edited some things over the weekened, lest I lost my mind and deleted it. Just... sorry, everyone, I'm having a rough couple of weeks.
> 
> Love ya.  
> You can yell at me in [Tumbrl](https://fightingmonsterswithwords.tumblr.com/post/168762515670/sbtt-anniversary-dearest-readers-and-followers-if), too.
> 
> PS. We surpassed 33000 hits! How crazy is that?

The moment comes and goes like a shooting star. Short-lived, wonderful and leaving a strange emptiness behind.

When it’s over, the embrace leaves you absurdly dissatisfied. The heat of his body wrapped around yours, the electrifying brush of skin on skin, that heady and musky smell that is all Guzma, his big hands supporting your weight like it’s nothing and his heartbeat drumming the most beautiful of melodies solely for your senses—you can’t get enough of it all. You have missed him so much, down to your very bones, in an ancestral and incomprehensible way impossible to put into words. Despite all the horrors you have both been through—or, perhaps, because of them. You want more. You _need_ more. A warmth blossoms in your chest, a withered flower first touched by sunlight after a long and harsh winter. But for every little voice pushing you towards him, another pulls you away in the name of cautiousness.

You bask in that sweet comfort for as long as you can without getting lost in it, and then you severely command yourself to stop. The effort takes every ounce of will-power to do so, but you deny yourself the satisfaction of fulfilling the delirious desire gnawing at your insides.

It would be insultingly easy, to let go of your good judgement and answer the siren call of his soul, drag him to your bed and forget the world as you made up for lost time, no clumsy words needed. But you can’t, for a myriad of reasons. And he shares that frustrating knowledge. That’s why, when you _finally_ move to disentangle your limbs from their firm perch around his torso, he helps you slid down with only a sulky scowl and a resigned exhalation. His fingers linger on the curve of your waist a bit longer as you look at each other, expectantly, neither willing or brave enough to break the tension, and then he takes a step back.

You shiver in the sudden cold, though the sensation is not entirely physical.

The instant your feet touch the hardwood floor, the mood changes. Like flipping a switch. Suddenly his fretfulness clashes with your own indecision, the fear and the doubts and the raging thoughts running through both minds, become a massive amalgam. It briefly overwhelms you. The magnitude of the situation sinks in and neither of you knows what to do. It’s not mere awkwardness. It’s fear of making the wrong move, saying the wrong thing.

Who is supposed to talk first?

Maybe the hug was a bad idea.

Maybe you _should_ have slapped him.

How come you have been waiting this exact moment for weeks and when it comes your brain ceases to work?

Should you offer a beverage, at least? Yes, of course, you want to be a good host. That is something you can do. You know there’s Tapu Cocoa in a cabinet somewhere—you saw the sweet treat in the supermarket last week and stared at it for a long minute, thinking about him, before throwing three big boxes into your basket.

“Would you…” Man, your mouth is unbelievably dry. “Would you like something to drink?”

His eyes go dramatically wide for a split second, darkening with the shadow of something that saddens you to the core, and you get the same impression as when you opened the door and saw him there—that whatever he had been expecting when coming here tonight, it certainly wasn’t kindness.

“Uhm, I don’t know. I won’t be staying long,” he mutters, and you try to hide the pang of dejection. He notices, anyway, either by betrayal of your facial expression or because the bond, restored and overly sensitive, gives it away. “I didn’t wanna get ahead of myself but, sure, I’ll stay a lil’ while—if you want me to. Water’s fine, thanks.”

“Right. Water it is,” you beam in appreciation.

You pause at the kitchen’s doorway and spare another glance, observing the nervous way he walks and looks around the living room taking in what colour you’ve painted the walls and how you’ve decorated the house. Slouching even more than usual as if trying to make himself small, like that was possible, he reminds you of a wild pokémon one must be careful not to scare away. Particularly, you can’t help but think of those skittish Wimpods scampering around the rocky beach of Route 8, ready to run and hide in the nearest hole, the way he keeps eyeing the front door. Your own Wimpod—the one _he_ helped you catch—is probably sleeping in the small burrow he built for himself in the back garden, by the pond you installed for the use and enjoyment of all your water pokémon.

“Please, get comfortable,” you well-nigh beg, suffering with the rigidity of his whole posture. You don’t want him to feel threatened here, out of all places.

All the fuss stirs Umbreon out of his slumber. Crimson eyes open and gaze warily at the hulking form of Guzma from across the room. The pokémon theatrically stretches his sleek black body, as if blaming you of disrupting his beauty sleep. Shaking your head in amusement, you busy yourself in the kitchen for a few minutes and, when you walk back into the living room with two glasses of water—deciding to forgo the wine—, you halt at the sight. Somehow, your very capricious and very distrustful Umbreon is curled up on the couch next to a bashful-looking Guzma—and he’s _purring_ , putty in those rough yet gentle hands as they scratch a weak spot behind his ears.

If Guzma looked uncomfortable before, he only looks mildly out of place now, if only because he refuses to rest fully against the cushions as though ready to stand up and leave at any moment. He accepts the drink you hand him without looking up.

Those long fingers close tightly around the glass, but you still notice the trembling. You bite your cheek and resort to taking a drink yourself to gather mental strength. It’s not until he has all but drained the water to the last drop that he looks you in the eye again.

“Thank you,” he repeats, slightly more relaxed.

Drawing a small smile, you sit down on the opposite end of the sofa, not wanting to push your luck by gorging his personal space when he obviously feels vulnerable. That tense silence swells again, unnerving you to no end.

“Okay, this isn’t going exactly as I expected,” you say, rather lamely. There is even some throat clearing and a fit of nervous laughter. “Listen, why don’t we get this over with? The weird part where we talk about serious stuff and feel incredibly awkward and self-conscious and perhaps cry a little. We can get rid of all that right here, right now, and put everything behind us for good. If you have any questions, doubts, something to confess or whatever… maybe this would be a good time to get them off your chest.”

He takes some time to ponder the suggestion and, eventually, he exhales a long deep sigh. “… Can you go first?”

“Sure, I don’t mind,” you exhale. “But I wanna establish some ground rules. _No lies_. Seriously. If you can’t bring yourself to answer something, I can work with that, but please don’t lie to me about important stuff ever again.”

He nods grimly, getting the message.

There is no point in prolonging the inevitable. A thousand questions cross your mind but you know well what you want to ask. Something that has been eating you up inside. After several quiet seconds, you choose to jump headfirst into that pool and voice one of your greatest insecurities—before you lose the resolve to get it off your chest and the poison takes root in your heart. “I get we never got to really be together, as in… a real, functional couple. I don’t even know what you considered us to be. I thought we were trying to get there—I wanted to—but then, you know, _that_ happened.” You breathe in deeply. “S-so, what I wanted to know is, if you… after we shared that night and decided to try to give the bond a chance, were you still… involved with Lusamine?”

There. You said it.

“No,” Guzma deadpans, looking away and back at you in a moment as he seems to grow angry, a gnarled frown creating a fault between his eyes. Not angry at you, but probably at himself. “No, dammit. Not in that way. I mean, I _used to_ , but I called that shit off as soon as we met. You’re my fuckin’ soulmate! Did you really think I was cheatin' on you or something?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, voice small at how upset the topic has made him. “I mean, your phone was on fire all day with messages I couldn’t read and calls I couldn’t hear about, and you got nervous when I asked about them. Now, I always tried to stay away of Team Skull’s affairs but that felt like something else. Then you were always busy and we stopped hanging out as much. I didn’t want to make the wrong move and ruin whatever was growing between us, but I was painfully aware that you kept many things from me. What were I supposed to think? I didn’t know it was Lusamine, but I definitely considered the idea that there was someone else. But, well… I’m glad I was mistaken.”

“Next question?” he grunts, not as amenably willing as before to continue with the conversation.

“Why did you follow her through all that madness? She wasn’t in her right mind. She… used you and your friends.”

He rubs the back of his neck, deliberating what is sure to be a difficult answer. “I’d say loyalty,” he starts, but there is heavy doubt and self-consciousness on his faltering tone. “Scratch that. It was stupidity. I _was_ stupid. And I was blind. Yeah, it kept my homies safe and fed, but towards the end I only cared about the praise. She made me feel useful. That woman painted a pretty picture and I believed her—that it’d be a milestone in history and we’d both rise as invincible with those Ultra Beasts in our power, prove everyone who ever doubted us wrong. It sounded _really_ good. I guess I just wanted to be the very best, for once.” He looks aside again, embarrassed. “And I guess I wanted to impress you, too, become someone worthy. That backfired spectacularly, huh.”

Silence.

“Just for the record, I already thought you were pretty impressive, as did many others. And I wouldn’t have pursued you if didn’t thought you weren’t worth it—bond or not. You just make it damn difficult to remember sometimes.” The corner of his mouth twists in a half-grin. “Which brings me to the last question: where the hell have you been since you left the hospital?”

“I sorta wandered around for a couple days, slept in this cave at the Meadow and everything. Didn’t really plan ahead. Then I sucked my pride up and went to Hala’s. There’s this ton of empty beds at the kahuna’s public house, so… yeah. The old man gave me an earful and took me in.”

“I fucking knew it!”

“Hey, I asked ‘em not to tell ya,” Guzma holds his hands up in a peace gesture.

“ _Them_? Hau knew, too?” you huff, feeling annoyed and mildly betrayed. “And what have you been doing there?”

“Trainin’, mostly. Thinkin’ about lots of stuff. And playin’ videogames.”

“And stalking me,” you quip.

“D-don’t phrase it like that,” he chokes on his breath. “I wanted to know if you were doin’ fine.”

“Well, I also wanted to know if _you_ were doing fine. But you literally shoved me out of the bond, asshole!”

“Yeah… about that—sorry. I needed to be alone for a lil’ while.”

Another sigh that feels like the millionth tonight. “I know but it was a hard pill to swallow anyway. I guess it’s no biggie,” you rub your forehead tiredly. “Okay, it’s your turn. The same rule applies, so ask away. Whatever you leave unsaid, I may not answer in the future.”

Despite the composed image you project, you are trembling inside in anticipation. You sit back and wait as he gets lost in thought once more.

“There’s only one question I wanna make,” he finally confesses, a bit eagerly and a bit earnestly, voice shaking with retrained emotion. “Have you really forgiven me? No lying. I just gotta know.”

“No lying,” you repeat, taking a few moments to steel yourself. “The truth is… I can’t really tell. I’m trying hard to get there. Now, I don’t hate you or anything, don’t get me wrong,” you hurry to elaborate. “I actually, uhm… have become shamefully aware of how much you mean to me. So, don’t think I don’t care. It’s the first time I admit this, so, there you go! I thought it was all a result of the stupid bond but, dammit, I followed you to another dimension and every single second you were dying in that hospital bed I felt I was dying too. It’s real. So, what I mean to say is… I haven’t forgiven you one hundred percent but, it doesn’t really matter as long as you don’t go and do something stupid again, because I’m willing to forget the past and just work on the future. Together. I don’t want to go back to what we were. I want to build something sincere and new.”

Guzma is so quiet, you are starting to freak out.

After a while he murmurs something that seems imperceptible to human ears, springing to his feet as if burnt by the very air of the room and heading straight for the door. “I should probably go now,” he says. “Yeah, I should… Thanks, doll. This was nice.”

Your lips curl with secret joy, knowing exactly what he said—or, at the very least, what he meant to say.

His foot hovers over the first step when you call out to him. “Guzma, wait.”

Before you can mentally talk yourself out of it, your hand is twisting on his t-shirt and he is leaning down to meet you halfway as you stand on the balls of your feet. Your mouths are shy of touching as you pause for a last moment of hesitation, hot breaths mingling, hearts racing, and lock eyes. The light and the dark swimming in those silver depths speak without voice, beckoning. You close the distance and kiss him for the first time in an excruciating eternity. With that kiss you forgive his faults and he welcomes your forgiveness, you dismiss everything that was left unspoken, leave the shadows behind and embrace whatever this is—you and him—without reserves.

“Welcome back.”

“Goodnight, doll.”

 

* * *

 

Saturday is a slow torture. You hear absolutely nothing from him and fear the worst, despite the happy note in which the previous night had ended. Sunday, he starts bombing you with both silly and cute text messages out of nowhere—you guess his phone is working again—and you chastise yourself for being so pessimistic. Either way, the weekend feels entirely too long and boring, even though you had been looking forward to some calm. You have the premonition that you won’t be able to rest completely until the trial is a thing of the past.

Monday morning you are the first to arrive at Mount Lanakila, for once, only to pass the following seven hours sitting alone in the Champion chamber. The League is still taking off and half the contenders are not as prepared as they would like to think, but you expected to battle someone. You spend most of the time bothering Guzma on the phone and playing games.

Relief floods your mind when lunchtime rolls in. You meet up with the Elite Four in the common room and voice your utter boredom quite graphically. Acerola snickers, tilting her head in that signature gesture as she sincerely apologizes because she whipped out three potential challengers all by herself before Olivia explains you weren’t actually placing any blame on her for doing her job with a motherly tone that has the rest of you snickering in turn. Hala walks into the room last and laughs heartily at your immediate accusatory glare.

“I can’t believe you knew where he was, all this time!”

But you forgive him within the minute. Because he has been helping Guzma in a special, personal way you would never be able to, as an old mentor and an old confidant.

Conversation throughout lunch resolves that it’s best if you stay at home unless otherwise specified, as most days there won’t be any challengers. For the moment, you can work with appointing matches on certain days of the week, which leaves you with plenty of time to keep working with Gladion on the side.

It doesn’t come as a big surprise when your Wednesday morning appointment turns out to be none other than Hau. The true shock is how much he has improved in little time. You are down to a very weakened Mimikyu while two of his pokémon are still standing, and it’s only be some miracle that you manage to turn the situation around and knock them both out. Hau shakes your hand with a sheepish grin, promising to be back soon with a yet stronger team, and then you eat a malasada together contemplating the view from the top of the colossal mountain. The battle leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Either you go back to training or this might be the end—you won’t be holding the championship for much longer. That was what you had been waiting for, in a sense, but you must hold onto the title a bit longer.

Besides that ground-breaking match, the remainder of the week falls flat on its metaphorical face. Paperwork, innumerable phone calls, and a general sense of dread. On Friday, you are called over to take care of a couple of late-hour challengers, and that’s that.

Shortly after sunset you land on the dirt road that traverses in front of your house and find Guzma sitting on the front steps. You spot him from the air, on the back of the Charizard, a black and white dot comically occupying too much space on your small porch. He gets up as soon as you approach, bidding no warning before he bends down to capture your lips in a slow and sensual caress that leaves you a bit weak on the knees. You moan in protest when he ends it and he taps the tip of your nose with one finger.

“Guessed you would be tired and hungry so I brought food,” he shows the plastic bags hanging from his arm. “No pressure, though, if you don’t want to…”

Rolling your eyes, you pull him down for another kiss, effectively shutting him up. “Come in, dummy. I’m starving.”

You take a minute to change into more comfortable clothes and then all but devour the stir-fried noodles you have picked from the various food items he has brought, sitting cross-legged on the sofa with an awful reality show playing on the background. Setting the empty containers aside, you show your gratitude by crawling over to his side of the couch and resuming what you started earlier. He happily obliges, meeting your lips halfway and angling your head just right to deepen the kiss before he gently pushes you back the moment your tongue traces his bottom lip begging for entrance. You have noticed there is always an edge of carefulness in these kisses, a line he is trying not to cross—and, though grateful and relieved that he is not taking things too far, too fast, you cannot help but whine at being denied full gratification and secretly enjoy this commanding side of him, which only adds to your frustration.

“Don’t look at me like that, lil’ girl,” Guzma groans. He snatches a nearby pillow and places it on his lap, patting it invitingly. “Here, rest your head and calm down.”

The sounds of the television become a meaningless drone as Guzma starts running his fingers through your hair. The sensation sends a pleasant shiver racking down to your very toes—not necessarily sexual but it’s been so long since he touched you in an intimate manner that it feels _too_ good. You hum contentedly, curling around yourself. After a while, you feel yourself dozing off, completely comfortable and relaxed.

The soothing movements stop at some point and suddenly he taps your arm lightly, leaning to speak softly in your ear. “Babe, I gotta leave.”

“Hmmm?” your eyes flutter open and you realized you had closed them. “Too soon. Stay a bit longer.”

His throaty laughter sends ripples of warmth through your sleepy body. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“What?” your eyes flutter open and fall on the clock. “Oh, shit, you’re right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that.”

“Do ya hear me complainin’?” he grins, brushing some stray hairs from your forehead and tucking them behind your ear. You grumble an answer against the pillow, eyes falling closed again. “Come on, you gotta get to bed,” he nudges your shoulder, but you won’t budge. “I guess I’ll have to do it for ya.”

 

* * *

 

The doorbell wakes you up the following morning. Somehow you must have overslept because the clock says it’s almost noon. You blame it on Guzma’s magical fingers and, when you tell him just that after opening the door, he doesn’t waste the opportunity to play with the obvious innuendo. He helps you put a decent brunch together with whatever you have in the kitchen and you eat silently, watching as your pokémon play around in the garden. The entire afternoon is spent training—he was elated when you asked for _his_ help. You pushed yourself and your team harder than ever, and he didn’t relent. Worn-out and more than a little sweaty, you send him away at dusk and go straight for the shower, a series of goofy and naughty texts waiting on the phone when you get out. There is a tired but satisfied smile plastered on your face for the rest of the evening.

He is back on your doorstep Sunday morning with a bag of fresh muffins and a large vase of your favourite blend of coffee. You walk down to Hau’oli beachfront, hand in hand, and eat breakfast on a bench overlooking the ocean—he blushes so hard the whole way down to the city that you fear his hair will catch on fire but, when you worriedly let go of his fingers, they get a solid grip of yours immediately again. Indiscreet whispers follow you around, accompanied by nasty and curious stares alike. Everybody knows who you are and who he is, and by now it is also public knowledge that you are soulmates. The tragic story of your fated love has been told in a hundred different voices and followed closely by the media ever since you returned from Ultra Space. The attention doesn’t bother you that much, but the way Guzma shrinks and looks about to shatter under their judgemental glares, _does_ bother you. A lot. Especially when his fists start shaking and he walks away, out of the blue.

You catch up with him in the outskirts of the city, grab his arm and force him to turn around and face you. “Come on, I thought we were supposed to sort out this kind of problems _together_!”

“But—“

“I don’t care what those strangers think about us,” you interrupt. “I care about _you_. If you’re uncomfortable being exposed, it’s fine, I don’t mind going somewhere else when there’s no one around to make you feel bad about yourself. But don’t fucking run away from me again!”

Your shout echoes against the rocky walls.

“You… you really do care about me, huh?”

“Of course, I do. Didn’t you believe me the first time?”

“I might need to hear it a couple more times to be convinced.”

You punch him on the arm. “Asshole.”

It’s an absolute wonder how Guzma sneaks into your daily routine so seamlessly, but he does. The long days of work at the League, he waits for your return with dinner of some sort and a movie, usually followed by a heavy make out session or his long fingers playing with your hair as you cuddle and doze off on the couch. He always leaves when you fall asleep, after carrying your lazy ass to the bed. Every day he kisses you a little harder before leaving, you cling onto him a little tighter, and that ethereal flame inside you burns a little brighter.

Until that one night you’re huddled under a blanket, playing the usual teasing game of furtive caresses and contained moans while pretending to watch TV, when you can’t enjoy it the way you would want to because the clock is ticking and soon he will have to go.

“Why don’t you live here?” you blurt out, a little out of breath. “Don’t freak out, I just… I know it’s probably too soon but we aren’t exactly starting from zero. We’ll still take everything at our own pace. But things are going insanely great lately and you’re always around, anyway, you practically live here already. We don’t even have to share a bedroom or anything but you would have an actual home, and your own bed, instead of depending on Hala."

He blinks like a startled Rowlet.

“What the... Where did that come from?”

You shrug, bashfully, feeling a bit foolish.

“I don’t know, babe,” he sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, it's not like it doesn't sound awesome. But what if, ya know, I mess things up again?”

“Simple. If that happens, then we work it out together. I’m honestly tiring of reminding you that you are not alone in this.”

“I know I’m not,” he protests. “So, you’re really asking me to move in with ya?”

“Would it be that terrible? The choice is yours, in any case. It has been going round and round in my head for a little while, is all. These past weeks have been incredible and I… I’m starting to feel all kinds of nonsense again when we’re apart. It feels so much better when you are here,” your hand moves back up his chest, under his shirt, and he shudders under your touch tracing the sensitive letters of your name stretched along his ribs.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Now, quit that before I make you pay,” he replies a bit huskily, fishing your playful hand and keeping them captive in his, drawing circles with his thumb on the back of it. “Let me think about it. But, just for the record—if this happens, we _are_ sharing a bedroom.”


	21. It Means Someone Can Get Inside You and Mess You Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”  
> Neil Gaiman, The Kindly Ones
> 
> (I swear sometimes I ask myself if this is a Pokémon fic at all.)  
> Domestic fluff. Some angst. A little bit of smut. I would describe this chapter as a mash up of several scenes I intended to write at some point, but I hope it doesn't seem too messy. Some bits could be better, that's for sure.  
> It needs some more editing, as usual, but I'm spent right now - I will get to it over the following days, along with answering your messages. Love you, guys. <3

In hindsight, you should probably have been more than a little mortified that Guzma came out as the mature and coolheaded one this time, suggesting you wait at least until the media and legal storm has passed, before making any important decisions. It’s an argument you can’t exactly refute and it makes you embarrassingly aware of how eager you apparently are to move forward on a budding relationship that, to all effects, is balancing precariously atop the ruins of unfortunate past events. How eager you are to tie the knot.  Reason pulls you in one direction and desire in another.

In any case, it means a rather short wait of twelve days and more time to think things over. Details like what you are going to do with your lives in the near future, once this is over and you cease to be League Champion. There’s a comforting thought you can hold onto for reassurance, if needed—that you are together at last. He is right there, and he is not going anywhere if you can help it. The cord tying your souls together, growing ever-shorter and ever-strong, will make sure of that once you seal the bond once and for all.

Even though that’s a serious commitment, you’re rather sure that it is the next step to take, however nervous and light-headed the mere idea makes you feel. Being tied to him, forever. It doesn’t sound half as bad as it did months ago.

But you can’t tell what he is thinking.

You have the feeling that is, to some extent, the issue at hand. The thing that’s gnawing at him day and night. The reason he’s all aloof at times and too clingy at others. Traces of what he feels reach you, second-handed emotions open to interpretation. All you can guess is that he harbours some kind of intangible fear. Perhaps he’s worried that something will happen at the trial, that someone will say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and he’ll be put behind bars, the estimated prison sentence mounting up to several years. Then you would be apart again, for who knows how long, which would suck spectacularly for a number of reasons.

You wish he felt comfortable enough to voice all this instead of suffering alone and reaching erroneous conclusions on his own. He’s getting better at the whole communication thing since the last time you had that uncomfortable conversation, so you don’t want to repeat yourself and put even more pressure in your already strange—sometimes seemingly rushed, sometimes seemingly slow—relationship. There are too many concerns in both your heads, some of them shared and some of them private.

But he’s having a hard time and you’re tired of feeling helpless.

“Say, what’s gotten into you lately?” you ask, unable to stop yourself, peering at him askance while heading back to Iki Town after a training session up the mountain. “You’re quiet. Almost too quiet, considering we’re talking about _you_. And it’s… well, weird. I can tell there’s something eating you up, so what is it? Do you believe it will go wrong? That we’ll mess up or something?”

Guzma stops in his tracks, making your steps falter, too. The sun is setting at his back, casting a dark orange light over the world and creating a strange sort of halo around his head.

“What? No, I don’t… I don’t think that.”

“Then, what? The truth.”

He’s not a particularly good liar—not that you are any better—and physical language usually betrays him, when anger doesn’t bring out the worst of him. The moment his hand goes to rub the back of his neck, you know you got him. He notices the unconscious gesture and curses under his breath, too, realizing just the same.

“No, I don’t think _you_ will mess up,” he sighs.

“But?”

Irritation gets the best of him and he kicks a rock down the hill with an angry roar. You flinch.

“Alright, you wanna know the truth? Yeah, I think someone will mess up big time. Probably me. I think it will be a fuckin’ disaster,” his voice rises as he goes on. “I think that stupid judge will take a look at my police records, at Team Skull’s shitty history, everything we’ve done, who we are, and remember that we represent the ugliest Alola has to offer. They may choose to sweep the dust under the carpet, ya know? It’s the easiest solution and it’s not like those bastards haven’t tried to do that before.” The words spill from his mouth like water, unstoppable, and then he quiets and his shoulders slump with weariness. “The world ain’t pretty, babe. It’s rotten. And I’m far from perfect, or even from what a good person is supposed to be. I just forget, sometimes, when I’m with you.”

Pink dusts your cheeks at the last, unexpected part. “Do you feel any better after getting that out of your system?” you ask, quietly.

He shakes his head and you sigh, stepping close enough to wrap your arms around his middle and resting your head on his chest. “I don’t want you to be perfect. That’s silly. I just want you to be you.”

“You say that now but…”

“Honestly, after everything we’ve gone through, you still think I don’t accept you as my freaking soulmate? I can’t ask you to shed all your insecurities and think more highly of yourself overnight but—give me a break! Do you think my feelings are insincere? Can’t you _feel_ them?”

“Of course I fuckin’ do.”

“Then don’t underestimate them!”

“I don’t,” he says. “They’re the most beautiful gift anyone has given me.”

You choke on your breath and blush, stunned, as you dissolve into a nervous fit of laughter and break the embrace. “Damn, that was… I keep forgetting how utterly charming you can be, when you put your mind into it. Who knew the big bad boss could be so sweet?”

“Well, lower your voice. Don’t go spreadin’ the secret around or my enemies will think I’m weak.”

“What enemies?”

“Enemies, ya know,” he shrugs.

“Sure…,” you concede before growing serious, taking one of his big, rough hand between yours to make sure you’ve got his full attention. “There’s no need to fear a bad outcome, alright? I won’t let them hurt you and your friends any more. You’ve gone through enough bad experiences as it is. Have a little faith on us, okay? Come on, we’ve been through this a thousand times. We’re a team, and we’ve got a near infallible plan! We’ve got all fronts covered—worked our asses off to make sure they can’t catch us with our pants down, whatever their strategy is. Did you think I fancy these damn bags under my eyes, that I was trying to copy your personal style or something? No! I’m sleeping like shit. I’ve stayed up late too many nights to count, memorizing a shitload of legal talk I don’t even understand.”

“I know. I can see the lights of the study always on from up there. I… I’m sorry, babe. I trust you,” he exhales. “But, what secret plan is that?”

“I already told you enough. You’ll have to talk to Plumes or Nanu if you really want to know.”

He clicks his tongue and deviates his frown upwards, to the darkening sky, muttering that he’ll find out eventually anyway. You are not privy to the specifics but they had some sort of disagreement several days earlier. Plumeria dropped by as per your invitation, kneed him in the stomach for being so stupid and then hugged him for not dying. After it seemed clear there wouldn’t be any further bloodshed, you left them alone for a while so that she could take care of his increasingly disastrous hair in your bathroom. By the time you returned home, she was already gone and he was in a downright shitty mood. So much, that you sent him straight to Hala’s because you felt like following her example and kicking him in the gut.

“Whatever,” you groan. “It’s getting late. Are you staying for dinner?”

“Do ya even need to ask?”

He starts walking ahead, down the slope of the hill that flows into the crossroads where your quaint little house stands, while you remain behind for a moment longer, taking a deep breath of the sunset.

Everything will be solved soon. After all, what could possibly happen in twelve days’ time?

 

* * *

 

Ten days until the trial.

The schedule at the League is at a steady day-in, day-off, with more challengers pouring in every week, a growing number of daily battles and an increasing difficulty to get away victorious from every match. Some days you find there are no contenders at all, some days they come in swarms. Contrary to the lie you tell yourself to persevere, no, it doesn’t get any easier. If anything, you keep finding more and more reasons to ditch the title and run without looking back. Pokémon battles are starting to become a monotonous blur and feel like a mere duty, unexciting, even those complicated ones that make you sweat and rack your brains.

It’s disheartening how you’re slowly losing a lifelong passion. Maybe you still enjoy the parrying sessions against Guzma’s team, but those are different—the intimate connection alone adds an indescribable edge of excitement. The pull and push. It feels like dancing, as you thought during your first battle at Malie Garden. It feels like a hard, satisfying fuck.

He described it as such one time and you couldn’t deny it was somewhat spot-on.

Any other time, everyone can tell you would rather be somewhere else, doing something else. You surprise yourself looking forward to a quiet desk job, going back to that research you left aside months ago, organizing your notes and staying at home for a while as opposed to running all around the archipelago doing outlandish errands or holding an enormous responsibility you never asked for.

However, it’s not only you. The physical and mental strain is noticeable anywhere you look at inside the majestic building of the League, more so because the time has come for a new wave of children to take on their island challenge and your colleagues are suddenly overloaded with their additional obligations as both captains, kahunas and part of the Elite Four. Your apathy feeds on their exhaustion and vice versa, though they fare way better than you in any case.

Heavy weighs this crown of thorns, and you can’t wait to pass it on to another. Someone more worthy. Someone that will value it.

 

* * *

 

Eight days until the trial.

The phone wakes you up shortly before dawn. It takes your brain several seconds to register the distinctive ring, different to that of the alarm that, on the other hand, wasn’t supposed to go off this morning. You don’t have to go to Mount Lanakila, although you are to meet with Gladion for lunch later, so you guessed you would be able to rest a bit, for once. Guess again.

Through the haze of drowsiness, you vaguely recognize the Kanto prefix, set the phone down a moment, do a double take and then sit up so hastily you get dizzy.

“… D-dad?”

You had called home again upon returning from Ultra Space, from a public phone in the hall of Hau’oli hospital while you watched over Guzma’s sleep. Well, you had waited a couple of days because you weren’t sure about how to face that particular storm. It goes without saying that your parents were far from thrilled with your impromptu farewell right before heading to an almost certain death in another dimension, and even less happy at seeing your face plastered all over the international newspapers and being questioned about it when they had absolutely no idea of what was going on.

Truth be told, you’re not one hundred percent sure of the reason you had called at all that one time. To say goodbye, just in case; to make amends, after the harsh way you left home; to clear your conscience; to see their faces one last time. One of those, undoubtedly, but you can’t remember which because you were a bit lost in the shadows back then. Memories of everything that transpired between Guzma jumping into the wormhole and bringing him back are distant and vaguely unclear, as seen from behind a screen of frosted glass.

But when you called that second time, you knew well why you did it. Because you almost died. Because you almost lost your mind. For real. The idea that it could have very much happened was devastatingly horrifying, and you _needed_ to see your mom and your dad, bury the hatchet and forget previous discussions.  Thinking back to the disagreement that brought you halfway across the world, it seems to meaningless now. You apologized. They apologized. The conversation had been on the short side, but it was heartfelt and it ended on a happy note.

Being in such good terms after so long, that they were calling so suddenly, at such ungodly hour, could only mean something was wrong. Right?

When the call ends, you drop your forehead on your bent knees and just stay like that, wallowing in self-pity, for a while.

How are you supposed to tell Guzma that your parents are visiting soon and are just _dying_ to meet him? Your parents, who lived an idyllic love story fit for a fairy-tale and expected their daughter to do the same when she found her prince charming. Your parents, who actually know nothing about your rocky relationship _or_ his criminal past. Thinking about this future reunion, the perspective of going to jail sounds almost appealing.

 

* * *

 

Five days until the trial.

The professor rushes to Mount Lanakila in the middle of the day. Twenty minutes later, Guzma borrows Hau’s Ride Pager and follows suit after receiving an alarming text. He climbs the staircase three steps at a time and scares the guys guarding the gates. He is still breathing heavily while walking behind Kukui around the League’s hallways, until reaching a big break room that smells of coffee beans. He finds you laying on a long L-shaped couch, with Acerola diligently holding an ice pack to the side of your head.

“Doll, what did ya do this time?”

“What are you doing here?” you groan. “Who called him? Why? I’m perfectly fine, guys. It was nothing.”

Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his perpetually bare chest, Kukui ignores your whining and turns to Guzma. “Don’t listen to a word she says. She’s _not_ fine. She passed out due to overexertion and hit her head pretty badly. She’s not concussed, but it’s best for everyone if you take her home to rest. And make sure she stays there!”

“Seriously, you’re blowing this out of proportion,” you protest. “I can— _oof_! What the hell?”

A pair of small but surprisingly strong hands shove your body back down onto the cushions when you move to sit up. Acerola’s indigo eyes look down at you, upside down, with an uncharacteristic harshness. “Nuh-uh. Don’t move! You’ll hurt yourself!”

By turns, you glance at everyone in the room expecting to find some support but find only judgemental glares. Defeated, you rest a bent arm over your closed eyes and sigh dramatically in disbelief. “I cannot believe you’re being like this. I’m fine, dammit. It was an accident. I’ve been sleeping and eating poorly, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” echoes Guzma, same words but drastically different tone. “You fuckin’ fainted!”

Kukui shakes his head. “This is not the first time you’ve failed to take care of yourself, young lady. I’m puting you in a time-out. I don’t want to see you around here until next week. I mean it,” he stresses. “I’ll fill in your position for a couple of days and take care of any challengers. Focus on resting and clearing your head. You’re going to need your wits at their full capacity.”

“My hatred towards you is at full capacity right now.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I,” you smile sweetly at the professor. “I can take perfect care of everything, and thus I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to drag me down the mountain.”

“Alright,” he says. “Guzma, please…”

“Gotcha.”

 

* * *

 

 

Two days until the trial.

You can’t believe you are grounded, like a little kid. And you find it even harder to believe Guzma had the nerve to carry you out of there slumped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

But you are, and he did.

With nothing better to do, you thought you might as well derive to one of the myriad small projects you had in mind when finally moving to your own place—gardening. You have been meaning to plant some nice berry trees in the garden, never finding the time, but now you’re not really allowed to leave the house for several days so it seemed the perfect time to get to it. The owner has proven to be elated with all the improvements you have added to the backyard, so far. Guzma thought it was neat, too, when you first showed it to him, and his pokémon loved to hang out by the pond. The trees will add some much needed shade in sunny days and, in time, free fresh berries.

Is it too preposterous that you are starting to consider buying the place when you have enough money? Your current savings are quite decent and it sounds nice—owning a house, somewhere to return to even if you decide to travel around.

Humming to yourself, you throw the muddy tools in the sink, yanking the dirty gardening gloves off your hands with a tired exhalation.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the front door.

Didn’t you give Guzma a set of keys?

Suspicious, you opt to look through the peephole. It’s not him.

It’s… his mother.

When you swing the door open, the short woman is observing the climbing vines on the porch posts, tracing the small petals of the flowers that are barely starting to blossom with a pensive expression on her gentle, rounded face. Hearing the door, she turns towards you with the same kind of smile she offered you back at the hospital—small and shy, but brutally honest.

“Good afternoon, dear. I hope I’m not intruding, dropping by without calling first…” Her voice is soft and kind, just as you remember, her eyebrows arching down in silent apology. ”Could you perhaps spare a moment to talk?”

“Sure. Of course. Please, come in,” you quickly recover from the surprise and step aside to allow her inside. “You’re not intruding at all. I just finished working in the garden, though, so I apologize for the disarray. I wasn’t really expecting any visits.”

“Sorry, I would’ve called first, in other circumstances,” she says. “You’ve got yourself a lovely home.”

“Thank you. Take a seat, please,” you gesture to the dining table on a corner of the living room. “Would you like some tea? I’ll put the kettle on.”

“I would love some. Thank you, dear.”

You set the teabags on the counter while the water starts to boil and arrange everything on a tray, the daintiest cups you own on their little plates decorated with painted flowers and an unopened box of pastries you were saving for an occasion like this. Albeit awkward and unexpected, you enjoy the idea of having a guest over.

Stricken by a sudden realization, you light another stove to heat some milk. “Guzma should be here at any moment now, too.”

The way her eyes—so familiar, a warm and rare grey—widen at the mention of her son implies she didn’t see this coming. You wonder if you just made a mistake, saying that. The woman certainly looks deep in thought, hesitating whether to stay or leave while there’s still time. If she didn’t come intending to talk with him, then she wanted to talk with _you_ in private?

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Maybe I should call him and…”

“No, no, it’s fine. I… I didn’t know I would find him here. I don’t know if he’ll want to see me,” she stammers. “But, please, call me Amanda. Tell me, are you living together?”

“Well, not really—not yet—but he spends a lot of time here. It’s complicated. I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you, though,” you answer truthfully. The kettle starts whistling and you turn the stoves off. “But, did you mention something about the circumstances? Is everything alright?”

Before she has the chance to answer, there’s a tell-tale rattling on the front door and in walks Guzma carrying several bags full of groceries on each arm.

“Hey, babe, I’m back. They didn’t have that brand of coffee you like but—”

“Um, yeah… Come with me for a second,” you send an apologetic smile at Amanda, hurrying to fetch him and drag him into the kitchen. Though it’s connected to the rest of the ground floor, it provides a slight privacy. “I apologize for the non-existent notice but your mom’s here.”

“I can fuckin’ see that. But how the hell did that happen?” Guzma whispers harshly, dropping all the bags on the floor to tug at his shaggy hair. You hate when he does that. The thing is, he doesn’t seem upset but he’s definitely taken aback. “Did she mention what she wants? I’m not… I’m not goin’ back to that house. I’m not…”

“No, no, no, it’s nothing like that. You’ll never set foot there again, I promise, and I would say she agrees whole-heartedly.” He’s so freaking tall, you have to stand on your tip-toes to reach his head, but you succeed in untangling his fingers. You bring them to your mouth and place a kiss on them, one by one, feeling him relax significantly. “She came to talk, that’s all. She didn’t even know you would be here. I met her at the hospital, and she’s been really nice to me. Go say hello while I prepare the tea. I’ll be right there in a moment, okay?”

He nods slowly, taking a deep breath, and then another, before leaving the kitchen.

The air is thick with tension when you join them. They are silently watching each other like wary animals. Amanda regards you with kind eyes that edge on sadness as you place the tray down on the table, handing her a steaming tea cup while putting a different mug, filled with hot cocoa instead of herbal brew, in front of her son. Guzma catches your wrist and tugs you down for a small, sweet kiss of gratitude, and at that moment you swear she looks at the verge of tears even though she is smiling from ear to ear.

“He, um… He hates tea,” you mutter, self-conscious, and clear your throat. “So, I can stay or I can leave if you’d feel more comfortable talking by yourselves.”

“Stay,” he says, firmly, though you feel it almost as a plea.

“Yes, please. Pour yourself a cup and sit with us, dear,” she agrees. “I came intending to talk with you, after all. It’s so refreshing for my old heart, seeing my son so content… alive and well, all thanks to you, my darling girl.”

“That’s not really…”

“You’re right,” you hear Guzma declare as he reaches across the table and grasps your hand in his, though you notice he’s shaking ever so slightly. You squeeze his fingers. “I wouldn’t be here without her.”

“I’m truly glad you found each other, found it within yourselves to not give up. Seeing you like this… it’s everything I could have asked for,” she says dreamily, gazing into the depths of her teacup with glassy eyes. “You know, I never got to meet my soulmate and I’ve always regretted not looking for them a little harder.”

“Mom…”

“I wanted to come see you sooner, after what occurred at the hospital, but I couldn’t.”

 “What occurred at the hospital?” repeats Guzma.

You jump slightly, realizing you never got to tell him about that episode. “Well, I… I met your parents. Your father wasn’t very polite. He said some awful things about you and he didn’t like it when I talked back to him.”

“He fuckin’ threatened you?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s alright now.”

“N-no, dear, I’m afraid it isn’t,” Amanda’s voice shakes slightly as she intercedes. “I hate to ruin this reunion but, I actually came here to heed a warning. These people called home several days ago. They’ve been digging around in your past and found us. They want us to attend the trial. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop him. Your father, he… he’s going to give testimony against you. He won’t listen to reason and swears he’ll make sure you rot in a cell,” she utters the last bit in a sob. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do!”

 _Mark my words, brat—you’ll regret this_.

The phantom words reverberate within your mind as you recall that unfortunate encounter with a monster in human disguise, in that blinding white hospital hallway that reeked of antiseptic. You grit your teeth.

The chair’s legs scrape loudly against the wooden floor when Guzma stands up abruptly. The contents of the table rattle, tea spilling to drown the little painted flowers on the plates. His raw emotions hit you like a truck. You have been witness to his anger before, but never like this. His fury burns like white fire. It oppresses your chest and makes you feel short of breath. But the coldness in his darkened eyes frightens you the most.

It burns, burns, burns.

“That fuckin’ bastard… I’ll kill him.”

_It burns._

He looks ready to bolt out the door like a rampant Tauros and fulfil that dark promise. He looks ready to kill someone, for real, and it scares you shitless.

“Don’t do this, son,” his mother’s soft voice rises with firmness. The knot in your throat lightens ever so slightly at the same time his murderous resolve falters. “You’re better than him. You’ve always been. Don’t give him the satisfaction of losing everything you’ve achieved over this. He’s not worth it.”

Clenching his teeth, Guzma drops his dead weight back on the chair, defeated, but he doesn’t look fine. He’s fighting an arduous battle with himself. Focusing on the violent intersection of your emotional torrents, you place a trembling hand on his thigh willing him to calm down and he blinks, that black fire dissipating like morning fog, looking lost and not fully conscious of what just happened.

“I… I’ve been thinking on leaving home for a while. I might do it now,” his mother keeps talking, looking a little mesmerized about the exchange she just witnessed. “Thanks to everything that’s going on, to seeing you aiming to become a better person, hand in hand with this amazing young woman, I’m finding a kind of strength I didn’t know my old body still had. The strength to fight back.”

“Mom,” he rasps, whole body shaking under your touch. “Has he ever lied a hand on you?”

She reaches for one of his fisted hands and gently pats the back of it, forcing a sad smile that speaks for itself. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Amanda…”

“I’m fine. But I better go before he realizes I’m here. It was good to see you, children. I hope we can meet again soon, on a happier note.”

“Of course,” you nearly whisper, your voice feels so weak all of a sudden. “Anytime. We’re here for you.”

Guzma walks her to the door and bends down to envelop the petite woman in a hug.

“You look good, son,” she says, turning to the door. “Happiness suits you much more than pain.”

 

* * *

 

Eight hours until the trial.

It’s dark outside. The window is open, just a crack to allow some air inside, the temperatures rising every passing day.

Once more you’re snuggling on the couch, your head on Guzma’s lap as he lies on a pillow propped up on the armrest, as is quickly becoming a habit. Sometimes the places reverse and it’s his head resting on your lap—you specially enjoy passing your fingers through those impossibly fluffy white strands and give naughty little tugs now and then, knowing well it’s a huge turn on and it elicits all kinds of little noises from him that are not frequently heard. When he can’t stand the teasing anymore, he counterattacks with tickles until you surrender, often leaving you both hot and bothered and greatly unsatisfied. Yes, it might not be your proudest moment but you admit to having tried to lure him into having sex several times over the last few weeks. You can tell he wants it as much as you do, if not more, but he’s so strong-willed and committed to this idea of waiting for the right moment to celebrate your union that it’s becoming ridiculous. You want to respect his wishes, though, even if the bond has other plans.

The television is on, though neither of you is really paying attention to the droning voices and flashing images. Your brains have been reeling without rest since his mother appeared at the doorstep the other day and dropped that bomb. Neither of you knows what to say about it, either.

The rough tips of his fingers trace an imaginary pattern down your bare arm and back up again, sending titillating ripples along your skin. It’s oddly soothing, although also maddening considering your general state of mind. You don’t wish for him to stop—and yet you need him to stop before you go crazy. And then he talks, breaking the silence, the tension and your wayward train of thought.

“Maybe I should just hand myself over to the cops and be done.”

“Hm?”

“Remember what I said the other day?” he exhales heavily, running his free hand up his scrunched up face and digging it in his unruly mop of hair. “Well, it’ll be me—the one to mess everything up tomorrow. Like always.”

Pursing your lips, you turn to lie on your back and angle yourself to better gaze up at his face—twisted in anger and sorrow and helplessness. You cup the side of this face with a hand, brushing your thumb along his squared jawline, feeling the tenseness there and trying to ease it.

“Why do you say that?” you ask softly.

When he heaves a sigh again, the released gust of air brushes over your arm. “’Cuz the moment I see that son of a bitch standin’ there all smug… I’m gonna lose it. I just know he’ll say the worst things possible to rile me up. And after I beat the shit out of him in the middle of the fuckin’ courthouse, they won’t lose any time listenin’ to whatever we have to say—they’ll put me in cuffs and drag me away from ya, for good.”

“Don’t even think about it,” you snap, sitting up and turning around to face him, dead serious. “That is _not_ happening. He’s a vile person, and we know it, so we’re prepared. You’re way stronger and smarter than you give yourself credit for, and you won’t fall for his petty taunts. Besides, I won’t leave you alone, especially if he’s there. He’ll regret crossing us—hurting you, and your mom. He won’t get away that easily. No fucking way. It’s just not happening.”

“I don’t know, doll. I’m not so sure.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m not terrified, too,” you confess. “But I’m trying to hold up the fortress here, and allow you a moment of weakness if you need it. That doesn’t mean you are weak, by definition. He represents a fucked-up part of your past, not who you are now and who you can become. Don’t worry too much, alright? I’ve got you. Tomorrow night all of this will be ancient history.”

Guzma says nothing for several seconds, then he nods once, timidly, fearfully. His cheek presses harder against the curve of your hand, seeking comfort. It will be a nightmare—he will be thrown into the spotlight, vulnerable under a thousand accusatory eyes and sharp tongues seeking to do harm—but he won’t be alone. He is never entirely alone because there is a little part of your soul belongs to him. Together, you are stronger. He sees that now.

“Everything will be alright.” At least, you hope so, from the bottom of your heart. If every carefully laid plan fails, you honestly don’t know what you would do. “Or we can always run away together tonight, change our names, start over in another region.”

He laughs, but both of you know the jest is painfully true. Guzma knows that, if he were to tell you to pack your bags right this instant and leave in the first ferry, you would forget about everything and disappear from the face of earth.

When you turn the TV off—not that anyone was paying attention to that cooking show—and get up from the couch fifteen minutes later, he yawns and follows. Even though you know you probably won’t be able to sleep a wink, you’re thankful he’s staying the night. You didn’t even have to ask—he knows you need him right now, and he needs you by his side.

Guzma is already getting comfortable under the covers, chest bare and arms folded behind his head on the pillow, when you return from brushing your teeth in the bathroom. He pats the empty space beside him and you climb onto the bed with a soft peal of laughter. Turning off the lamp on the bedside table, you settle on your side with a lengthy sigh, and he immediately draws you into the warm cage of his arms.

Every time you move and toss and turn restlessly, wide awake, the strong arm wrapped around your middle tightens; momentarily disturbed, Guzma buries his face in your hair and presses a kiss to your head whispering soothing words or nuzzles your neck, falling asleep again just as quickly with his head on your shoulder. Perhaps he’s not even fully conscious and just wants to comfort you, even in his sleep. But then his hand drops from your hip, a movement too precise as to be an accident, and nudges your thighs apart to cup your heat. A breathy moan leaves your mouth, filling the room, when he starts rubbing you through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Why? I thought you said…”

He transforms your question into a strangled moan when his fingers find your clit and start drawing circles. His soft chuckle tickles the back of your neck and rises goose-bumps along your skin.

“You need this. Let me take care of ya so that you can fuckin’ relax and let me sleep,” his voice rumbles. He knows exactly what he is doing, and all too soon he has you on your back with your underwear rolled down around your knees and two thick fingers buried deep in your dripping cunt. If you could feel something other than triumph, you would be ashamed by how effortlessly he has you coming undone. “Look at yourself, so needy and desperate. And it’s not even my cock. You’re so beautiful like this, baby. So fuckin’ beautiful. I can tell you’re close already… I’ve really been neglectin’ ya, hm? I’ve been a bad mate.”

His fingers slid out and go back to rubbing circles on your slick clit, hard and fast, before sliding back in and repeating the delirious pace. He repeats the motion until your legs are bucking against his hand, legs trembling. He holds them open as he fingerfucks you in earnest, making sure he hits that sweet spot inside you every single time, and the next time he goes back to working at your clit, he doesn’t stop or slow down. You are sobbing and begging him to _not stop_. You’re so close. You need it. You need him. It’s been so long. He’s so good. The euphoric release sweeps through you like a tidal wave as you feel your wetness gushing onto his hand. His ravenous mouth swallows your broken cry as he himself seems to growl.

Though your thighs clamp around him, he keeps stroking you until the aftershocks relent. “I’ve got you, baby girl. I’ve got you.”

Afterwards, he captures your trembling lips in a long, slow kiss, tugs your panties back into place and resumes his position as big spoon, as if nothing had occurred at all. Waiting for your breathing to quieten, you intertwin your fingers with his where they rest in the curve between your breasts and hold onto his arm because you feel absurdly light-headed, as though you will float away if you let go of him.

“Don’t you want me to help you…?”

“No need,” he whispers throatily. “I already did. It was… awesome, and weird. When I felt you cummin’, let’s just say I _really_ felt it.” He thrusts his hips pointedly against your backside and there is a distinctive dampness on the fabric of his pants rubbing against your upper thigh, his cock softening already within its confines. “Guess this bond stuff is really somethin’ else, huh? Now, try to sleep. I’ll take these off and be right back.”

Worn-out and satisfied, you begin to drift off, smiling sleepily when he comes back from the bathroom and crawls onto the bed. The warmth of his body slides back beneath the covers and lies behind you, hugging you to his chest, where you belong. However, you must have barely slept for a couple of hours before your eyes flutter open again to a dark and silent room, sometime before dawn.

Time passes so slowly anyone would say the clocks have stopped altogether. Staring at the placid darkness, listening to Guzma’s shallow breaths and feeling the rise and fall of his chest against your back, you soon come to wish that was the case. You remain awake throughout the rest of the night, mind reeling but oddly at peace, and when the first light of the dreaded day seeps into the room there are three little words lodged in your throat. But you can wait a little longer to say them. He already knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED - 20th March 2018
> 
> So, we're sadly approaching the end. My guess is... two chapters, plus an epilogue... something like that. I can't tell for sure.
> 
> I'm deeply humbled by the reception this fic has earned and I truly hope you enjoy the last remaining chapters. ^^


	22. NOT A REAL UPDATE [Author's Note]

No, this isn't a new chapter. ( **Sorry!** )

Yes, I know it’s been three whole months already and you’re probably plotting my murder – make it look like an accident and say I fell on top of a kitchen knife, 50 times; I’m clumsy like that, it could pass as believable.

I’m not partial to Author’s Notes, personally, but I thought this necessary. Not everyone follows me on Tumblr and has thus been able to read my occasional posts on why I couldn’t just sit down and write fanfiction for a while, so I hope this gets all of you. Even though I couldn't find the time to reply your messages or anything, I know hits, kudos and comments have never stopped pouring in – which is amazing, and _you_ are amazing.

Long story short, I’ve been struggling with a very important research paper for the last six months, which I only finished three days ago. (I cried.) So, it’s finally done, and I can start thinking about writing for fun again.

Now, for the actual news: as you may remember – or not –, I was pretty persistent on the idea of going back and doing some serious editing once I finished the story. That was the plan. But it has changed. It’s been a while, not only since the last update but in general, and my memory can be faulty. So… considering that I feel re-reading the whole thing before writing anything new is the best – and maybe only – solution, I think I’ll start with the editing _right now_.

I guess this was the last thing you wanted to hear, and I completely understand. I can’t apologize enough for the unexpected _hiatus_ and then announcing this so close to the end. On the bright side, this means once I’m done with the story, it’s done. It also means fixing all the gaps and mediocre parts that nagged me; re-writing some scenes, adding some new ones, maybe deleting useless parts, shaping the characters way better, and – of course – working on making Guzma and Reader’s relationship better and more natural on many accounts. I didn’t have much of a storyline planned when I started, so I just went along with whatever came to my mind at the moment and then tried to continue from there. It shows. There are some serious cracks on the foundations that have haunted me all the way through from the Prologue to Chapter Twenty.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t plan on rewriting _everything_ – I’m not crazy enough yet as to ditch 90K words and start from scratch, though maybe I would be once I finished. I actually wrote down some of those mistakes a long while ago, so I will go chapter by chapter improving what I feel needs improving. Most importantly, I will most likely change a lot of what I wrote on soulmates because it was all improvised and then I found myself in a conundrum, especially regarding the sexual aspects of it.

Anyway, I feel like I’ve rambled enough. I hope you can all understand and forgive the massive delay, plus the extra-stalling with the sudden editing. I will do my best to bring the completed, improved story to you as soon as possible.

Thank you so much for your patience and your undying support – it means the world to me! Love you. ❤


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